#and it makes me grateful that there are so many resources to help and so many kind people in this world

[uncanny-tranny]

I think every artist needs to experience the sheer rage of learning how wrong you were about something and exactly where you went wrong. As weird as it sounds, it's grounding and can be really awe-inspiring after you're done being pissed off. It reminds me that there is so much in this world I don't know, that I need to turn every stone, or I will feel my brain peeling itself with longing

[saetoru]

underground fighter wriothesley who absolutely melts whenever you patch him up n place the softest kisses over his bruises n stuff :((

- 🦋 anon

✩ ‧₊˚ ✩ WE, NOT I — WRIOTHESLEY.

contents. underground fighter! wriothesley, gn! reader (he gifts you flowers, perfume and a necklace though, so if that is fem! coded to you, there’s your warning), mentions of foster care and being orphaned (wriothesley), mentions of blood, bruises, and injuries (wriothesley), slight angst but overall fluff ending

money’s tight—has been for a while, actually. wriothesley doesn’t like to talk about it, doesn’t like to open up even though he knows you won’t think any less of him. but you notice the small things, always do.

it’s the way you buy groceries for two, the way he’s always over for dinner one way or another, the way he seems to spend more and more time at your place than his. money’s tight, even if he doesn’t like to admit it—and you could never force it out of him, but you think letting him stay with you while he can could help ease the burden of living even if a little.

he’s grateful—a little roundabout in the ways he shows it, but grateful all the same.

and then the presents start to come.

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

i might make this a reoccurring drabble series too idk yet. anyway you know what else he can beat up ?? this pussy ;)

[targaryenluvs]

DELICATE

pairings: dark!coriolanus snow x innocent!wife!reader

warnings: erm we’re back at it with another dark corio! possessiveness, literal murder, threats, vulgarity, nc touching -dumbification/babying, emotional manipulation and vulnerability, sexual undertones and thoughts, ownership?? NOT PROOFREAD

summary: coriolanus had to marry. lucky for him one of the most eligible girls of the capitol was up for grabs. only problem? he hoped his cold exterior would keep her away but nothing broke her sweet spirit. what happens when he finds himself being drawn to her light? and how far was he willing to go to keep it untainted and all to himself?

word count: 2.09k words

a/n: i swear i can only think of dark ideas for him because he is practically crayz - i loved this concept tho so enjoyyyy - annoyed i can’t find any post-lucy gifs snd i’ve already used the other one help me plz

taglist: @sleepydang @aspieundercover @darktrashsoulbear @3lliesrifle @rafeysbafey @zejjef @themorriganisamonster @cryfordemie @winterblu2 @earthangel-111 @taylarxse @alexameliamg @katastrophic04 @jjggdfvvy @joshwifeyslaymamaballs @10ava01 @kis9na @princessdaella @princessloveweird @prettybiching @justacaliforniandreamer @bxtchopolis @witchafterz @har-rison-s

PART TWO

coriolanus wanted nothing more than a relaxing night. he’d been at a campaign meeting for about four hours and he’d gotten absolutely nothing out of it.

he was in the right mind to fire them all and work it himself but he knew he couldn’t. all he wanted was to go home, have a bath drawn for him, eat dinner with you and go to sleep.

coriolanus had seen a number of weird things in his life but nothing was weirder than seeing you, hanging up the laundry to dry. you’d stopped him in his tracks but hadn’t yet noticed his presence as you hummed to yourself and went about your business. after staring in confusion for a few minutes he cleared his throat, “y/n. what are you doing?” you turned towards him with a smile, “it’s christmas! so i sent the staff home for the rest of the day so they could be with their families. don’t worry i had them prepare your bath, dinner and everything else. there were some things left to do so i thought, why not do them myself? i cleaned my room and yours, ironed the previous batch of laundry and placed them away, dusted the library and i was hanging up the laundry until you showed!” you beamed as you continued to hang the clothing.

coriolanus took a seat on one of the lawn chairs as you continued. he decided to watch you, to make sure you were okay. because who on earth wants to do laundry? that was the very reason you had so many servants. but here you were.

“you can head inside corio, no need to wait for me!” you said sweetly. coriolanus was a strong man, always rational. but god when you spoke so sweetly to him- no. “there’s no need, i’ll wait till you’re done.”

the sun was hanging low as the last rays illuminated the dining room. you’d set out candles, flowers and other pieces on the table. back home you loved setting the table, until your father would reprimand you for doing something you didn’t need to. what will people say if my daughter is acting as a servant?

but right now you felt at ease.

you had a good life. good friends which were rare to find in the capitol. good family and a good husband. he was proper, took care of you in every way, even if he didn’t love you, you were grateful to be married to someone you liked. admired. you’d heard whispers of corio’s childhood, his depleted resources and poor upbringing. but you couldn’t care less. he was more of a man than anyone you knew. and he was extremely pretty, your parents would’ve probably married you off to whomever they thought would help with social standings so this match? a lifeline.

coriolanus kept himself in check. he was up for presidency, his name and wealth restored and he was respected and feared. you were a diamond in the rough. whilst all the other girls in the capitol were, special, to say the least, you weren’t like them. first of all, he could tolerate you. like you even. you were exceptionally smart, well-read and spoken, respectful of those worthy but even those beneath you. you were kind, not the fake kind of the capitol. kind to everyone, helping everyone however you could.

and to him it was more than perfect. someone kind would be easy to have, easy to be married to. he knew from the second he saw you as marriage material that you’d never endanger those around you. you cared, enough to put your happiness to the back of the line. you’d be easy to control. after the wedding he expected you to be clingy, desperate for his love and affection. as any girl would from their husband, but you kept your distance. you didn’t push yourself on him, you did your duty. you did what was required and more. but you always listened, listened to him.

so he assumed you’d be easy to be married to, but he was always in awe of you. your sweet smiles every time you passed eachother in the halls, in the morning at breakfast and at night for dinner. always catering to him.

“what should i wear?” “you can choose.” “you tell me.” “it’s your choice.” and god did it inflate his ego. you were always asking about him, how his day was, what he did, who he saw etc. but it wasn’t just small talk, you were always listening. absorbing his words like a sponge, wide eyes, head nodding along dumbly. he loved it. and over the year he found himself, caring, on the inside at least.

every time you’d go out there were hungry eyes consuming you. your face, body everything. and he wanted to personally pluck out each eyeball and feed it to their families. so again, overtime, he’d shield you, protect you. his sweet wife who knew nothing of what the others wanted to do to her. a hand on your back, an arm around your waist, a peck on your forehead and his large red coat around you. all for show right?

he wanted to puke.

the smell of cabbage wafted to his nose and he was oh so close to putting this fist through the wall. who on earth-

you were humming, again. “corio!” your voice was music to his ears, corio, no one said it to him anymore. not even tigris. but he only liked, only wanted it to come from you. “dinner is served, some of your favourites are here. i asked tigris what you use to eat as a kid. ooh, you never told me you liked cabbage, me too! guess that’s another thing we have in common.” you beamed as you walked over with a bottle of wine, “tell me when to stop.”

he eyed you up the entire time. trying to catch a fleck of disgust whilst you ate, andddd, nothing. you weren’t lying, you actually liked it. he swallowed his own fear and began to eat.

“mm, i was wondering what you wanted me to wear tonight? i’d like to match corio, if that’s okay with you.” corio smiled slightly, “i would like to match. i have something i would like you to wear tonight sweetheart.” your eyes darted forwards as the word fell, sweetheart.

you couldn’t help the smile that came to your face, he only used terms like that in public. and based on his reaction afterwards, of which there was none, it meant that he probably didn’t even realise. or he did, you could never read him.

the red dress did things to coriolanus. the idea of you in it has his head spinning, but to actually see you in it? he wanted to throw you onto his bed and never let you out.

but to you it looked as if he was studying the dress rather than looking at you in it. “you look good.” you grinned, “thank you corio! i love your suit, you look very handsome.” you straightened his suit as he looked over your shoulder, your back was bare. “do you have a throw?” you quickly nodded and picked it up from the dresser. “good.” you already got a million stares in ordinary clothing, tonight was going to test his patience and anger.

the gala was gorgeous. for once there wasn’t ugly statues and weird color matches. a clean and pristine white hall, chandeliers, gold accents.

your heels clicked on the floor as coriolanus held his arm for you. “your hand please.” corio stared, waiting for your further explanation. “when we link arms your arm is too high for me. i end up with my arm at my neck.” you laughed as he lent his hand, which you gladly took.

stares and compliments at every corner of the room, everyone was looking at you two. the future president and first lady of panem. a match made in the capitol. you and coriolanus made the rounds, talking to present sponsors, potential sponsors and other candidates, much to coriolanus’s distaste. after a while you realised you were sort of just standing there, so you excused yourself for a drink and a closer view of the band.

“you look, ravishing.” charles operman. a sight which no one wanted to see, but to you he was just an ex-peer of the academy. “charles! thank you, corio picked it out for me.” you’d missed the way his jaw clenched at the mention of your husband, but you were to engrossed by the angelic singer and band. “you know, i always thought we’d end up together.”

the abruptness of his sentence had you choking on your drink, “excuse me, i’m married charles. i’m sorry if you thought that we would be together, i see you as a friend. i’d hate to lose a friend.” you smiled as he got uncomfortably closer and leaned into your ear, hand on your bare back.

coriolanus’s grip on his cup was tightening as he listened to lucky drone on and on. he wanted to see the life leave charles’s eyes, maybe his head would make as a nice present for you. “excuse me.” he nodded his head as he placed his cup on a passing waiters tray. you were helpless, and he was here to help you.

his breath was hot in your ear and you could smell the liquor on him as he was grabbed from you. “coriolanus, sir.” charles mocked salute as coriolanus stared at him, maybe he thought if he stared long enough hed burn into the floor. coriolanus rarely smiled, but this one was unsettling to say the least.

“if you ever put your hands on my wife, look at her, speak to her. it will be the last time you do so. i might just call in a favor with dr gaul, i hear your fond of snakes?” charles’s eyes widened, he hated snakes. he couldn’t even watch the 10th hunger games, the second he saw the snakes he ran to the bathroom and hurled.

“when i become president, you better keep yourself in line. it’d be horrible to see your family in the games no?” charles took a step back, “you can’t do that, i’m capitol.” coriolanus drew back,

“you won’t be for long.”

you couldn’t believe your eyes, of course he’d protect you but, threatening? he’d never do it right? the shutters of cameras had you reaching for corio, “can we leave my love?” coriolanus turned to you, “of course sweetheart.”

he’d stayed up for a long time. a smile came to his face when he remembered the sound of charles’s neck snapping. the door creaking open revealed a disheveled you, “corio? are you awake?” he sat up as you released a breath.

“what is it y/n?” you took a shy step forward, “i uhm, i can’t stop thinking about charles. he scared me, i didn’t know what to do corio. i-” you couldn’t stop the tears from falling as coriolanus swiftly got out of bed, helping you into his bed. “i- can i sleep here tonight? please?”

this was definitely not how he first expected to have you in his bed, but how could he say no to you? your hair in its braid, messy and lose, puffy eyes and tear stained face. he wished he’d first seen you cry underneath him but he’d take what he could get. what he didn’t expect was for him to like this, the scene of you crying, needing him. he was the one who could help you, console you, coddle you.

coriolanus nodded as he moved back to the bed, tucking himself and you in softy, caressing your hair and kissing your forehead. god he’d held out for so long, denied himself and his feelings but having you in his arms was all he could ever want, but the idea of being in you flooded his head.

would you cry like this? would you shout and scream? did you like it soft and sweet? he couldn’t be soft and sweet, he’d savour the moment but he loved the idea of unravelling you, he’d be the only one to see you like this, him being the only one to make it happen.

you curled into his chest, like a baby. your soft cries and whimpers went straight to his crotch and soon enough you were asleep.

his sweetheart, his delicate little wife.

corios hand slipped downwards and into your pants, he promised himself he just wanted to feel but god you made it difficult. he saved you tonight, didn’t he deserve a reward? didn’t matter if you detested he had you where he liked. so he slowly rolled over and placed you on the bed.

your eyes fluttered at the change of placement but he couldn’t care less. he was done waiting.

you squirmed underneath him in your sleep but his worries faded away.

[dulcewrites]

ewan in the saltburn trailer is j sooo giving private school filthy rich aemond i love it

AND YES HE NEEDS HIS POC GF

I have been feeling…. less than inspired lately about hotd tbh but hopefully this will spark something. I know no one asked for this lol. This was inspired by Beyoncé’s Upgrade U. Honestly, I don't think Aemond would be much of a loser in a modern setting. He would be far too elusive and people would find him interesting simply based on that. But I am combining/changing some lore here so he is a #loser in this like I am assuming Ewan's character is Saltburn is.

Upgrade You

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x rich!reader (wc: 2k)

Summary: You have always enjoyed having a project to build or fix up and Aemond Targaryen is no different

You flick a spoolie brush over your brows as you finished up your makeup. The lights from your vanity mirror illuminating you as you put the last touches on your face.

"I don't get it," Melanie sighed as she hugged one of your pillows to her chest. She sat crossed legged on your California king bed. "You're like the smartest person I know. Why do you need to be tutored?"

"Everyone can improve themselves, no matter what someone's specialty may be. Remember that."

Melanie nodded enthusiastically. Sweet girl, you think. A little daft at times but nothing some time under your guidance cannot fix.

She tilts her head curiously. "You are pretty dressed up for a library meeting too."

"Another lesson," you fluff your curls then turn from the mirror to her. "Do not let anyone tell you that you are overdressed. Does the library have a dress code?"

Melanie shakes her head slowly.

"So, who is going to tell me to change?"

"... No one?"

"Exactly."

Melanie chews on her lip in thought as if she is taking mental notes in her head. Though she is not wrong you are quite dressed up just to be studying. But your advice was also not wrong; any moment to be noticed should be taken and made the most of. If are to come into contact with any of your peers, why not make the best impression possible. You also do not have in it in you to tell your new pupil about the real reason as to why you were making this little trip. Best move through life with your cards close to your chest as your mother tells you. You can only imagine how wide Melanie's hazel eyes would get if you told her what you had up your sleeve.

Much like how you help the girls around you cultivate their futures, you must look out for your own as well. Your phone dings, and you smile when you check the notification.

Aemond Targaryen.

Archaic, some would say. Sending the feminist movement back 50 years, many could argue. Being realistic is more how you would put it. You have money, sure. Your parents have afforded you all the opportunities they wanted you to have, and for that you are grateful. But you are not naive; this is still very much a man's world. No matter how much money you have, there will be people who will look at you and hate you for having the gall to want more. For having ideas and wanting to express them. For looking the way, you do - for using the way you look against them.

You may not be able to have a seat at the table... but you can have someone build another for you.

Your family may have resources and money. But they do not have 'my father can use company family buy his way into politics; my mom has ancestry that traces back to French royalty' reach.

Luckily for you, there is someone who does have that access.

A little rough around the edges, but nothing some TLC cannot fix. It was one of your best traits: finding the diamonds in the rough and polishing them off so they shine brighter than before.

You go over to your closet and open the double doors. As your eyes search over the different handbags, you call out back to Melanie.

"Watercolor Dior saddle or creme Bottega Jodie?"

"Dior," she calls back.

You check yourself in the mirror before existing the closet.

"Well," you twirl for Melanie. You run hand over your midi turtleneck dress. You knee length boots clanked around as you moved in a circle.

"Perfect," she beams.

She sees you out to your car. With the window rolled down, she waves you off like a mother seeing their child off for kindergarten.

"Happy studying!"

Sweet and simple, just how you like em.

———

You always thought the best thing about Oxford was how it looked in the fall. The leaves begun to change, sprite green to a blend of red, orange, purple, and brown. Made the most picturesque background. But it seemed like how gently the leaves fell from the trees was the only thing that was coming easily.

Maybe it was naivety on your part, but you thought when you showed up in four-inch patent leather Aquazzura heels and literally no books, Aemond would have got the hint. And yet, here you were talking about the components of stockholder’s equity, as if you cared.

"So," you interrupt him mid rant. "Any fun plans for Winter break? I know it is a while away, but everyone is already taking about what they are doing."

He wrinkles his nose, his glasses being pushes up in the process. "Probably just dinner with the family."

Right. The compound. At least that is what the Targaryen main home looks like. You of course needed to your research.

"Well, there is this crazy Christmas that happens before everyone leaves," you shuffle closer to him, and you hope he gets a whiff of your perfume. "Maybe we can go together?"

Aemond snorts and looks down bit sheepishly. "Highly doubt, I am invited."

You fight the urge to sigh wistfully. Cute, smart, wealthy as fuck... and apparently awfully insecure. Everyone throwing the party should be falling at their knees to have him around. But you have since understood during your time at Oxford that many students here do not understand the opportunities in front of them.

If Aemond had any real confidence, he'd say fuck it because he could buy everyone going if he wanted to. They ignore him because he allows them to. And then you realize he is one of those people; the delusional 'I want to get by on my merit not my name' kind of people.

Oh sweet, silly boy.

"That doesn't matter," you wave him off. "Besides, if anyone says anything, you can just say you're with me. Consider it a thank you for doing this for me."

You let your hand slip on his thigh and squeeze slightly.

"Better yet, let's call it a date."

Rhaenyra would think for the amount of money her family has; they would be able to afford stronger liquor. But she has a feeling that it has nothing to do with money, and more about the 'champagne only' rule Alicent liked.

The expansive backyard was decorated impeccably, as it always is for the annual holiday party that they throw. Twinkly lights in the trees, red and green everywhere, and even a frankly nouveau riche ice sculpture. The affair was black tie, and Rhaenyra could feel the eyes of some guess when she showed up in a red fitted suit. Taking small sips from her glass, she looks around the area. She swears the more years go on, the less she recognizes who is invited to things like this.

"Don't tell me step-mommy has put you in timeout."

She rolls her eyes when she hears a familiar voice. Daemon comes to stand next to her, with a small glass in his hand.

"No, you fucker," Rhaenyra then frowns. "Where did you get the scotch?"

"Why do you think I am in timeout?"

Her uncle always found a way around the rules. Rhaenyra blows air out of her cheeks in annoyance. She looks down at her watch; another rule is that they were required to stay at 2 hours. Only 45 minutes has passed since she arrived.

"Heard you are going to the company retreat this year," Daemon downs the rest of the drink and winces at the burning.

"Someone has to represent the family with dad," she shrugs, a small amount of smugness seeping into her tone. "He asked me to go."

"Hmmm," Daemon smirks at her smugness. "You and Aemond."

Rhaenyra blinks confused. "What?"

"Yup," he leans against the wall. "I suppose Viserys found a new muse."

Rhaenyra snorts at his words but then licks her lips nervously. It sounds cruel to think, but it was never something she ever really worried about - her father preferring her siblings over her. At least not something she worried about in her adulthood. Sure, as a girl, newly off the passing of her mother, seeing her father marry a woman only six years her senior rattled her. Aegon being born shortly after only made things more tense. But, and to his own detriment really, Viserys had made sure she came first.

"I did not know Aemond had an interest in the company in the first place."

"He didn't," Daemon's mouth pinches a little. "Not until... recently."

Rhaenyra follows her uncle's gaze out to where Aemond was standing. He always managed to look more grow up than his sibling, more than Helaena and Aegon. A mimicry that Rhaenyra thinks he picked up from his mother, but something seemed different now.

New haircut, no glasses, new suit. Armani? No, Tom Ford. With a Cartier tie clip and sparking cuff links to match. He is surrounded by some of the lawyers that work at the company.

"Looks like university has done him well," Rhaenyra tries to sound as even keeled as possible. "Good for him."

"No," Daemon sounds bored with her strained pleasantries. "That is what pussy does someone who has never got any before."

Rhaenyra blanches. The last thing she wants to think about is her younger brother having sex. She sets her champagne down in disgust.

"Don't be gross."

Daemon huffs before directing his attention towards the other side of the courtyard. His eyes zero in on Alicent, who tosses her auburn hair over her shoulder as she laughs with a young woman. A pretty young woman.

"Only met this semester and managed to get a holiday party invite, and a seat next to mother dearest. She must some charmer."

"You know," Rhaenyra starts. "Not every woman that is around this family is some sort of ruthless social climber."

"Of course, not every woman. Only the smart ones."

She sighs. That was not just pointed at the girl, but at Alicent too. Even though Alicent grew up with an even cushier life than they did. A type of old money that even the Targaryens had to give credence to. Strangely enough, Daemon seemed to take Viserys remarrying worse than Rhaenyra did. Even Rhaenyra over the years has grown to accept the fate that is their blended family. Accepted it enough to be cordial, albeit sometimes still awkward, with Alicent. They have forever been bonded in having to deal with the moods that come with Viserys Targaryen. But Daemon... it seems like he has never forgiven his brother for the act of moving on. He seemed to only grow more jaded since the divorce from Laena.

"How do you even know this?"

"Aemond told Aegon who told Helaena who told Rhaena who told Baela who told me."

Rhaenyra breaks her gaze from the two women. "Keeping tabs on your nephew that you barely speak to?"

Daemon gave her an empty smile. Almost a little cruel like he would crush her like a bug if it would not so pitiful. "You naive little thing. When you figure things out, let me know."

Rhaenyra wants to ask him what he means by that, but Daemon pushes himself off the wall he was leaning against to leave Rhaenyra alone.

Alone was a feeling she was used to. Rhaenyra often found solace in the loneliness that she found herself stuck in. If she did not find comfort in it, it would swallow her whole. Jaw unhinged and bloodthirsty.

Her eyes went back to the where Alicent and the girl were sitting, but Helaena seemed to replace the girl's place to speak with her mother. Instead of getting chummy with Alicent, the mystery woman had gone over to Aemond. Rhaenyra felt a little queasy watching them. Like watching two little dolls or those silly little cake toppers people get. Picture perfect like the stock photos that came in picture frames.

She shook her head at herself with an internal laugh. Here she was picking apart her baby brother's seemingly first real relationship; she was no better than Daemon if she did that. It was she told herself when she watched one of the wives of the company's lawyers come up to the girl and give her kiss on the cheek. Like they were old family friends.

Rhaenyra suddenly finds herself straightening out her jacket and her heels moving across the outdoor area. Might as well introduce herself... as a kind sister figure, of course.

She has a funny feeling she will be seeing this girl around more often.

[honeytonedhottie]

embodying the wellness girlie aesthetic⋆.ೃ࿔*:･🎀

i rly love the pink pilates princess aesthetic so i thought i'd make a post on some habits that i've incorporated that rly fit this aesthetic. and improve my wellness in general.

THE PLAYLIST : for the pink pilates princess aesthetic i rly love to listen to music that makes me feel like a doll~ so the playlist aspect of this post is totally customizable and just suited to however u wanna feel. i listen to a lot of twice and sabrina carpenter when i work out. but listening to music just elevates the experience

THE NUTRITION : u dont have to do a complete 180 in the things that u consume, instead start implementing little by little, foods and drinks that'll improve ur health. bcuz u glow differently when ur glowing not only from the outside but the inside as well

kombucha - i totally recommend trying it if u haven't before. its kind of carbonated and u can get it in any flavors. kombucha in a nutshell is tea thats been fermented. it heals ur gut and contains lots of probiotics which are good for ur body in general

drink tea - drinking tea daily is so so so good for you. if ur a bit intimidated by tea start off with a tea 99% of people enjoy, spearmint/peppermint tea. idk many people who DONT like spearmint tea. its just an easy tea to enjoy and its RLY good for ur skin and ur body.

smoothies - look up smoothie recipes online! smoothies are so yummy and customizable so if u dont wanna directly consume ur veggies, you can get them in through a drink! its revolutionary. my go-to is strawberry and banana, bcuz its not only delicious and good for me, but its also pink which is the main reason

eat more salads, açai bowls, eat ur oats, drink ur smoothies and of course dont forget ur matcha

supplements - u can find wellness vitamins or supplements virtually anywhere. a brand that i rly recommend is ollie. im taking their hair skin and nails vitamins and they're lovely.

THE EXERCISE : if u go to youtube and look up follow along pilates workouts u can find SO many. use ur resources guys! if u try pilates and it isnt rly ur thing, try dance workouts or workouts for songs. try a workout challenge. working out doesn't have to be dull. the key is to find something that u enjoy doing and doing it consistently

SELF CARE : ofc the pink pilates princess prioritizes her self care time~ self care is just a good habit to incorporate period bcuz of the massive benefits on ur mental + physical + emotional state

do a face mask - hydrate ur skin guys

get ur nails done - the classic pink pilates princess nails are pale pinks and french tips

take a bubble bath - invest in a high quality bath bomb or bubble mixture that smells nice

invest in a gua sha

start oiling ur hair and putting in hair masks to keep ur hair healthy

write out what ur grateful for (self care isnt only physical)

GOING FOR WALKS : going for walks is amazing. walking improves cardiovascular health and reduces the chances of heart disease and strokes. i love to go for walks and listen to music or a podcast. just make sure that your walking in a safe space or with someone that u trust, especially if ur alone (stay safe <3) going for walks also helps clear ur thoughts!!

ATTIRE : buy clothes that make u feel cute and that make u feel good whilst working out! i like to wear a lot of pink when working out~ when i type pink pilates princess inspired outfits into pinterest i see a lot with leg warmers too! i think that having a cute outfit to workout in motivates u a lot to actually perform the actions and embody the wellness girlie aesthetic. cuz when u look the part -> u feel the part

and last but not least ENJOY urself and romanticize it, have fun <3

[intersectionalpraxis]

I just emailed the United Nations Women's Office in Geneva, Amnesty International, Oxfam Canada, and Doctors Without Borders (MSF) about the lack of period care in Gaza. It is frustrating to see that international organizations have not set up a fund specifically to help Palestinian people who need this. Having one resource to help with this shortage, Motherbeing, is not enough for millions of people.

Period care is health care. I don't want anyone to tell me that emailing international organizations about this is either silly or not important because not having adequate access to this can cause serious health ramifications -from infections to illnesses and later reproductive health issues.

Pregnant women in Gaza are also continually suffering right now -of the thousands of women that were supposed to give birth over these past few months -they have not had safe and consistent access to care during their trimesters. I have spoken about this before -but we need to keep amplifying this issue as well.

Women's health in Gaza has been under under crisis for a while now, and we KNOW this is part of a zionist's larger agenda -to attack women and children especially because they see them as some of the greatest threats. So please do what you can -send those emails, call your representatives/MP's and demand a ceasefire. Demand more than adequate medical care -which includes period care -reach those in Gaza who need it.

Original post where Hind Khoudary is reporting:

To say I'm bitter-sweetly fortunate my TL has been full of feminists talking about Palestine -while at the same time I have seen a plethora publicly turn away, ignore, or remain silent on it because of money or greed or worry about their social or financial capital (celebrities and 'influencers' -we know who you are) -I'm just embarrassed for them.

When I first started my journey into feminism as a first year well over a decade ago (and as someone who used to be ignorant about so many things until I started my process of learning/unlearning/educating myself) -I am resoundingly grateful for that beginning. Being able dig into intersectional theory, listening to activists from all around the world about their struggles, passions, and efforts to liberation -and I still continue to do so.

Reading about the importance of decolonization in tandem with dismantling the heteropatriarchal capitalist machine -I always know the importance of solidarity and ally ship as a result of years of study -because the power IS with the people -and our voices do matter -the system, time and again, wants you to believe you don't. And for those feminists who aren't using their platforms or voices to encourage and demand a ceasefire -or any and all ends of systemic oppression -you have blood on your hands. Feminist and women's movements aren't meant to be something you cherry pick.

So do the bare minimum, or don't call yourselves feminists.

I also don't have a 'template' per-say, since I just wrote them out individually and edited them, but if anyone wants to me post something generic so they can make their own to send to these organizations please let me know.

[teyamsatan]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ ᴠ - ᴅᴀᴅᴅʏ ᴋɪɴᴋ

pairing: neteyam x avatar!reader (part of the cardigan saga)

➽ a/n: it's neteyam and atan's world, and we're just living in it! hi besties and welcome to day 5, aka the day that almost killed me bc writing daddy!neteyam is actually much harder to me than i thought it could be. but i wanted so much to give this day to them, since they are my forever favourite pair from my forever favourite work of mine.

you don't have to have read cardigan for this to make sense, although it helps. i hope you enjoy, i've seen a lot of you besties reading cardigan recently and it's nice to know you wouldn't have had to wait as long for this prompt as my og readers, who i've promised this to for far too long hahahhaa my bad.

finally, this will continue in another (or two) kinktober prompts, so enjoyyy ;) x

➽ words: 1.7k words

➽ warnings: it goes without saying, but all of these works (kinktober-related) are smut and therefore minors should NOT interact with them. other warnings include: anal fingering, p in v, pet names, hair pulling.

➽ taglist (x) ➽ kinktober masterlist (x)

➽ na'vi compendium: atan - light, ma 'itan - son, kalin - sweet to the taste

“Come on, ma ‘itan. You have to let go of him at some point, you know?” Letting go of your son was harder on Neteyam than either of you ever envisioned. Well, not really. In truth, he’s always been a born father - loving, caring and attentive, he has been the unofficial parent of three kids ever since he reached puberty, and yet, it’s never made him bitter or deterred. On the contrary, it seemed that the birth of your son, the sweet Kalin, only made him more enthusiastic to put everything he’s learnt about parenthood to good use with his own family. Still, there were times, like right now, where you wanted to remember what it was like to be alone with your mate, the love of your life, the man who you’ve gone trough hell and back with. Solitude was a scarce resource right now, with a babe barely over a year old, but you were lucky to have a village full of people who were more than ready and willing to help babysit, and some who were more excited about it than others - like Neytiri.

“I’ve wanted to have this little one all to myself for so long, we’re going to have so much fun!” Her little coos were adorable and once more you couldn’t help be forever grateful for the person who’s been a mum to you for years now, who loved you and has done so ever since you were born. Although so different, you couldn’t help see your own mother in her, and you were reminded to pay her and your dad a visit at the Tree of Souls. It’s been a while. 

But for now…

“We won’t be too long. Thank you for doing this, sa’nok.” 

“We might be… a little long. Isn’t that so, Atan?”

You chuckled at the quiet desperation in his voice, and, with a roll of your eyes, you clicked in the direction of the tent’s entrance, wordlessly willing him out. This was going to be fun…

It was still risky, coming to the places that used to mean so much to you once, that you had to forsake when you moved to the Metkayina, that you got back once more once you returned home, but you couldn’t help yourselves. Not when these places, this place, in particular, has been one where so many memories, all shared between you two, were made, not when it still brings goosebumps on the surface of your skin, the thought of all you’ve lived through here, from learning how to swim and climb to conceiving your little bundle of joy that was safely back home. You never realised how much being a mother would mean to you - although it was always clear how much being a father meant to Neteyam. You’ve loved him all your life, but somehow never more than when taking care of your son, then when he showered you in love and affection, when he acted like the dad and partner you always knew he would be. 

“I miss this place so much every time we don’t visit for a few days. It’s like after all these years, and all these memories… it’s part of me. It always will be. And even now, I feel like a teenager, obsessed with you, desperate to look into your eyes, excited beyond belief at every glance or touch you send my way.” 

You couldn’t believe how even despite knowing each other since birth, being there for each other every day of your lives, your heart still galloped in your chest any time he spoke, and he still had so much power over you, power to take your breath away with words… and actions.

“Whatever you say… daddy.”

Neteyam turned around almost robotically, alert and frantic as he struggled to make eye contact with you in the least amount of time possible. You chucked at his demeanour, almost predatory, tail perked and unmoving, eyes wide and pupils even more so, swallowing the beautiful yellow of his irises whole. 

“What did you just call me?” 

You smirked and curved an eyebrow in his direction, enjoying the tingly feel that came with doing so, the goosebumps peppered on your skin after being conditioned to expect him to react to it, to unleash on you demons and urges that only you could swallow, only you could help quench. 

“Fuck.” A second later he was by you, and even after a few years in this body, his reflexes still amazed you, still took you by surprise. You gulped at the intensity in his gaze, a gulp that got stuck in your throat as soon as his fingers found your neck, as soon as they wrapped around it and squeezed in just the right way so you felt euphoric, so it felt like the beginning to a night to remember. 

“Atan, you have no idea what you started. But I’ll show you. Let daddy show you.”

His sultry words made your legs clench together, a desperate if futile attempt to cease the dew gathering in your beaded loincloth and seeping past the fabric onto the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

“Turn around.” 

It never took any effort on your part to wholly and relentlessly obey your mate. He loved control and for him, only him, you loved to give it up - you loved it when he manhandled you, his strong, muscular physique perfect for such a task, made to do exactly what he was doing now, spinning you in place and pushing you gently, but forcefully by your shoulder and lower back until you were on the ground, kneeling and waiting. 

“I’m gonna need this perfect little body on all fours, Atan.”

The ground felt moist and tender beneath your hands and knees, and you were so aware of every move, every breath, every fleeting touch of his nimble fingers on your body, slowly making his way from your neck, down your spine until he reached your hips, that he gripped with both his large hands, before giving a praising, appreciative murmur at the sight before him. 

“So, so beautiful. Look at you, spread open for me, making a mess before I even touched you. Daddy’s little slut.”

You nearly snickered at how quickly he adopted and adapted to the nickname, how natural it was, rolling off his tongue, how somehow, every time he said it, you got impossibly wetter, almost panting with the desire to be filled up with his cock, with his cum. You moaned softly when you heard him spit into his hands, and could only imagine the mouthwatering sight unfolding before you as he pumped himself, before plunging into the depths of the desire that would overcome you both. When he guided his rock-hard erection to the plush of your ass, gliding it effortlessly in between your asscheeks, over and over, all you wanted to do was scream for more. It felt wondrous and dirty, and you wanted it all, wanted him everywhere, all at once, all the time. Like the mindreader he always was, he spoke before you had a chance to voice your unrealistic feverous dreams.

“Let’s start with two fingers and work our way up, how’s that sound?” You appreciated him for his thoughtfulness always, but especially now, always ready and dutiful in making sure you were prepared, that your body was capable of taking him, of taking it the way he ended up wanting to give it to you.

“Words, Atan.” 

“Sounds go-good. So good.” 

“That’s right.” 

He was taunting you now, slapping the tip of his cock on your clit, dragging it against your folds before sliding into you with ease, while plunging two fingers into your puckered hole.

“Fu-uck! Fuck! Argh!”

The feeling was beyond comprehension,  beyond your wildest fantasies. It was always this good, always this mind-blowing and yet, you have never gotten used to it, never gotten used to the amalgamation of sensations and how they’d all accumulate to a night of orgasm after orgasm, until you were passed out on his cock, too tired to even mutter a tired I love you.

His hand was soft as it trailed up your body until it reached your braided hair, that he took into his fisted hand. When he tugged on it, as he slammed back into you, you cried out, moaning garbled attempts at his name. Your head pulled backwards as he used your hair to establish a brutal, ruthless pace of both his hips and fingers, and soon enough, you could feel your first orgasm as it approached, thunderous and violent and ready to take over you. 

“I can’t wait to be a dad again, I can’t wait to see your swollen belly and know you have made me the happiest man in the world every day of my life so far and will continue to do so 'til the day I die. I can’t wait to hold your hand when you bring our baby girl into the world.”

“But not tonight, Atan. Tonight, I want to ruin you. I need to ruin you. I need to watch my cum drip out of your every perfect little hole. Do you understand?” 

A meek nod is all you managed, the sensation too overwhelming to allow for any coherent, cohesive expression, the cried-out iteration of “yes, daddy. Yes, fuck, y-yes!” only audible in your head as you screamed it with all your internalised might. 

“Good girl. Come for daddy. I want to hear you, Atan.”

His words were enough to push you over the edge, and you came, vision blinded by the high, mind numbed by the way every nerve in your body felt electrified, alight with the pleasure that didn’t seem to want to cease, not even as you squirted on his cock as he continued to pump into you, the overstimulation enough to make tears fall down your cheeks and onto the ground. 

You didn’t have time to catch your breath, no time to gather any thoughts before he leaned onto your back, whispering seductively in your ear. 

“Ready for round two? You didn’t think I was done with you yet, huh?” 

taglist: @pandoraslxna @sulieykte @blue-slxt @eywaeveng @neteyamsikran @elenamoncada-ibarra @spicymayyo @itsjazzsworld @daddysmurfslefttoenail @eyrina-avatar @iameatingmyhair @hadesbabygurl @linydoll @the-mourning-moon

(pls complete the form in the beginning of this post to be tagged)

[taggedmemes]

SENTENCE MEME BALDUR'S GATE 3 / PART FIVE

we won't survive this if we don't stand together.

it is through conflict that we strengthen our bonds.

the next resolution may not end in her favor.

it's a question that burns in my belly day and night.

have you been looking at my differently?

i was too hasty to judge you.

i thought you witless, gutless, and unimpressively bland.

i thought you cruel, stubborn, and judgmental.

you have stoked fires i didn't know i possessed.

you've gained my respect.

you know how to set my heart racing.

we'll kiss and make up in our own time.

someone prodding at a newly opened wound doesn't help matters.

admirable conviction.

how can you go through all this trouble and not understand why?

secrecy is ingrained in me.

i like night orchids and can't swim.

i can't remember much of myself.

i hope that's the end of this silly quarrel.

killing's never my first choice, but they were too dangerous to leave alive.

i've come to sate you, and be sated.

time for pleasure has passed.

there's something i want to talk to you about, something important.

i owe you my life.

i may not have survived that night without you.

i'm trying to say that you've earned my trust in a way very few ever have.

i'm not usually one to elaborate if i can avoid it.

most fear the dark, because in darkness they see their fears reflected.

in darkness we do not hide, we act.

you pray with such conviction.

the presence of your goddess must fill your whole being.

perhaps we need not speak farewells.

i never pictured myself as a hero.

never thought i'd be the one they toast for saving so many lives.

i hate it, this is awful.

i would've liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.

all i want is a little fun.

it's not you, it's me. i have standards.

you have no idea how good it feels to see these people smiling.

don't waste a night like this talking to me.

i thought you might care to have a drink with me.

i rarely imbibe, the stuff goes right to my head.

before you know it, i'd be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person i laid eyes on.

you strike me as extremely resourceful.

there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you.

i must not keep you all to myself, as enjoyable as that may be.

this might be the wine talking, but i'm feeling inspired.

look at them all, guzzling poison l ike we've the right to be happy.

i need to dance.. nope, i need to lie down.

the others will kill me if i keep you all to myself.

spontaneous thank-yous make me suspicious.

this is a night for celebration, not suspicion.

amid all this merriment, i wasn't sure we'd have a chance to speak this evening.

were our bond a little stronger, i might even have shared a moment of magic with you.

our fledgling acquaintanceship has not yet taken flight.

such intimacy will have to wait.

they could not match your nerve today.

it was enough to drive me to madness.

i won't be nursing their pounding heads and sicks stomachs in the morning.

everyone seems to be in high spirits.

you know who i never thought i'd find myself caring for.

i think you'll find i've been showing ample concern for myself since the moment we met.

share a bottle with me?

i'll find you after everyone's turned in for the night.

i think a toast is in order. any suggestions?

sounds like you just need a little more liquid inspiration.

you're beautiful.

i know [i'm beautiful], but you're sweet to notice.

i'll trust your judgement.

i do not truly care if you approve.

that night meant a lot to me.

i'm not sure what kind of sourtship we'll be afforded, given all that we're facing.

if you want to see where this goes, i do as well.

we share something special.

my people are nothing if not resourceful.

thought i'd shaken you for good.

that'll teach me to underestimate you.

she's trying to trick us, don't believe her lies.

when i saw an opportunity to get away, i took it.

you're asking me to trust a devil.

i don't want this to end badly for either of us.

you know monsters, right? better than anyone?

thought i was going to have to take your head.

there have been enough threats today.

how would you feel about helping me kill some evil bastards?

turns out i've got a knack for killing demons.

she looks like she could throw me over her shoulders and carry me to safety.

i'd hug you if it wouldn't scorch your skin off.

she's got the brawn of a warrior and the wiles of a survivor.

she speaks her mind, plainly and fully.

in other circumstances, i would have done the same.

best to not dwell on nights past.

you've been naughty.

you know what happens when you're naughty.

aren't you a luscious thing.

if i had a warm heart, i'm sure it would be skipping.

i've taken more pleasant shits than you.

that's no kind of talk for a lady.

you better not lay a damned finger on [name].

a promise broken, a price paid.

been a long time since someone stuck their neck out for me like that.

he's a good man, maybe the best of us.

the sex gets better the more experience you have with someone.

[badchoicesworld]

hello !! i love the way you write :] !! i was just wonderin if you do requests for 42!Miles ? it's no problem if you dont but if you do id be so grateful for one with a masc reader :'D reader is an artist like miles or could maybe be his spiderman as well ? thank you !

miles 42 w/ an artistic spider-reader !

earth 42 miles x masc!reader

i’ll be the first to admit that i was a lil stumped since we don’t know all too much about wiles, but i did some digging and figured he’s gonna be around 17, vigilante and there’s a lot of things in his design that helped me figure out his personality (i think, anyway. please for the love of god don’t let my education be in vain)

wasn’t sure if you wanted platonic, general shit or romance so i just sprinkled a bit of everything in this because we need more masc fanfiction out there (fun fact, i write fanfiction but i do not read it)

if this is just shit lemme know and i’ll go missing <3

warnings: none

pairing: miles 42 x masc!reader

requests: OPEN RAAHH

it was so fucking hard to find a half decent cap of this man

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

AIGHT if you’re to become earth 42 spiderman then it’s likely under the same circumstances as miles 1610. or, who knows, maybe there’s another radioactive spider hanging about somewhere that bit you

REGARDLESS imma go ahead and say that this bite is gonna be a recent thing, otherwise NYC wouldn’t be in such a state

unless you just like people to suffer idk

you and miles are friends before the bite, can’t imagine he tolerates a lot of people now with all the stuff he has on his mind so you’re a long time friend, maybe more

miles is the guy you go to straight away with this, if you’ve discovered you have these incredible powers and suddenly heightened senses

just imagine the revelation when you realise what this can mean for the world

spider-man wasn’t a thing in this dimension, so you’re a completely new beacon of hope

earth-42, if you haven’t seen the test animation, seems pretty corrupt and fucked

miles and uncle aaron seem to be a vigilante pair that steal things like medicine for hospitals, maybe because the state of the world just means they’re short of resources, or it’s being led by a really disgusting government

miles 42 is a good guy . you cant change my mind

miles has been the prowler for however many years at this stage, uncle aaron being his right hand man in operations

regardless of how close the two of you are, this is something that he’s kept hidden from you if he can help it

but all of that is just recklessly discarded when he realised you can help, it’s new hope, and he’s desperate

he’s still incredibly discreet when talking about it, especially when you two are in his home

the last thing he wants is to get his mother involved, that woman means the world to him and he’d die before she was exposed to this stuff

but let’s assume you two take on this role together, young vigilantes that have to make things in the world right

it’s a secret that you two have sworn up and down about never telling another soul, no matter what

miles is the prowler and you’re spider-man, go make a difference

while you guys are vigilantes together, you are still kids. minors, whatever

so, yeah, you do still get to go to school and live the best of both worlds if you’d like to

you take the same art class together, you’re both acing tf outta it because i said so

but let’s be honest, miles 42 is way more stern and focused, he might have been like the other miles we know at some point, but not anymore

his design is all sharp and rigid, hatched- this is a reflection of his personality

you’ve definitely helped to instil some hope in him, though

you can see him soften up every once in a while, and god knows he loves his mum, we love to see it

probably the most domestic thing you guys will get to experience is designing your suits together. naturally, all spider-people are stupidly smart so you can actually contribute to tech design and build things to execute missions more effectively and efficiently

even if you two are boyfriends, things just seem so tense all of the time in that world

unfortunately, earth-42 is a place where you have to have eyes in the back of your head, but you two get to act as that for each other so you don’t constantly have to be looking over your shoulders paranoid

granted, it’s a tough role

new york is in ruins thanks to the unfortunate circumstances, but your dimension has a spider-man now, hopefully you can help the world heal

actual missions can get intense at the drop of a hat

prowler is all about stealth, so recon missions have to be done with serious precision and there is no room for mistakes

especially when it comes to stealing resources for the people, miles isn’t physically willing to let these things sit idle and go to waste when people are dying

it’s life or death, you two have to rely on each other whole heartedly

since miles doesn’t have his own webs, he relies on ropes and harness, but it all changes after you’ve gotten bitten

with your abilities, you two are able to move to much faster and fluently while fleeing a scene, it’s impressive

being caught isn’t nearly as risky thanks to your spider senses

he’s not vocal about it, but miles appreciates you so much

i don’t think that he’s gonna be some overly protective guy when he knows you can protect yourself, that’s just wasted energy and honestly insulting of him

again, even if you are together

he loves you and cares about your safety, you’re the man who’s helping him make the world a better place

he’ll worry if situations become dire, but he TRUSTS that you’ll be okay

you’ve got his back and he’s got yours

when all’s said and done, if something ever goes south, spider-man always gets back up

you’ll lick your wounds (tend to them properly but very reluctantly because you all know there’s so few resources)

probably relies on really gentle words of affirmation at the end of the day, otherwise you two wouldn’t cope

those nights are when he’ll use spanish terms of endearment (masculine), he doesn’t want you to feel neglected in a way

you’ll tuck away your suits together once the days come to an end and silently swear to secrecy once again, before the weight of being teenage vigilantes together takes over and you collapse onto the nearest surface together

he’d be a fool to not feel safe in his own home, especially with you and his mother in it (you too aaron, welcome back)

bonus:

before the world turned upside down, you and him used to get caught all of the time tagging different places with graffiti, Mr Morales was not pleased

if you ever get those peaceful moments of bliss amidst the chaos, your ability to climb walls is really helpful when spray painting up high

you can see just the faintest trace of the old miles, the artist who was completely doe eyed about the future

★⋆ ⋆☆⋆ ☠︎︎ ⋆☆⋆⋆★✧

DID I SLAY ? PLE

[deputyrook]

Impressions- 6/?

PART 1. PART 2. PART 3. PART 4. PART 5.

You're a psychic. He's a detective. And a serial killer.

(Enter: FBI)

Mark Hoffman x psychic!Reader (trouble in paradise?), with a teensy tinge of Strahm x reader. Sue me.

Word count: 5002

WARNINGS: Corruption, abusive dynamics, general Saw-levels of horror & violence. Mentions of child abuse. Not much romance in this chapter, sorry! Reader is still drinking the Jigsaw Kool-Aid.

---

How many derelict warehouses can one single man own?

The meat processing plant that you're making your way through isn't exactly easy to navigate. Much to your chagrin, Mark has left you to make your way through it yourself, apparently having "work" to do. You're not sure whether he means detective work or Jigsaw work, but you don't ask for details.

The place smells like metal and blood, two scents which are becoming more and more familiar to you with each passing day. You tap your cane along as you go, the vibrations travelling up your arm. It's taking time, but you're slowly getting used to the tool.

The responding echoes of the different sounds reveal to you the type of surface you're stepping on- concrete floors, metal grating, scattered pieces of glass. This abandoned plant is cool and quiet, your footsteps by-far the loudest sound you can hear.

The cane also keeps you from running into walls. Still, it's slow going. Not having any idea where John Kramer is doesn't help. If the echoes are anything to go by, this place is huge.

Strangely, you suddenly wish that Kerry could help you out with this sort of thing- not that this was the universe she belonged in, or the side she fought on, but you could almost hear the dry, sardonic comment she would make about the state of this place.

After fifteen minutes of wandering in mounting annoyance, you think to yourself- could this be another test? Marco-polo? With John, everything had the potential to be one.

You do have another tool that you can use to get information about your surroundings. With a sigh, you flex your fingers on the cane and reach out with your awareness instead, scanning.

There. High above you, forward and slightly to the right. No one else flutters against your awareness, confirming for you that it's just you and Kramer, alone in the plant.

Now where the fuck are the stairs...?

Slowly making your way around the warehouse, you go from room to room, feeling your way around. Every so often, you'll hit the edges of some strange, metal contraption that's impossible for you to get a clear mental picture of. You just feel jutting edges, sharp points, and thick bolts, and back away.

Eventually, you find a railing, which lets you know you've hit the bottom of a set of stairs. Climbing very carefully, you keep your senses trained on John Kramer's signature like a hunting dog on a scent.

It leads you to a closed metal door. You rap on it with your knuckles, waiting. When you don't receive an answer, you shove it open anyway.

"I know you're in here," You say as you enter, "You couldn't have met me on the ground level?"

You freeze in place, though, when you hear a shuddering breath and the hiss of an oxygen tank.

The cancer has spread like a rot, making even simple tasks difficult for him. It wrings the time from him like blood from a soaked cloth. He has a hard time even holding a pencil, anymore. It used to be his sword.

He would have met you on the ground level if he could. But he can't.

"I had faith you'd find your way," John says, after taking a deep breath.

"And so I did. You can't say I'm not resourceful," You lean your cane against the wall and walk over slowly, feeling your way over to the area where John is seated. You hit the back of an armchair, and ghosting your fingers over it, manoeuvre yourself to sit down across from him.

"And gifted," John adds. He seems to have caught his breath now, as his voice, though shaky, grows stronger, "You've experienced firsthand the kind of growth that being tested allows. What do you think of it, now?"

He's already gearing up to his thesis point, the reason why he asked that you come here today. He doesn't have the time to waste on small talk. You entertain his question.

"There's no doubt it's changed my life," you say magnanimously, "Being in a traumatic, life or death situation has a way of isolating what's important to you. Of cutting the fat from the bone."

Back when you could see, you never would have thought that one of the hardest things about losing your sight would be the social aspect of it. Not being able to gauge how people are reacting to your words- without delving into the nebulous depths of their souls, anyway- was socially stifling.

Particularly when the reaction you're trying to gauge is that of a hair-trigger serial killer. Ah, if Kerry could see you now- trading philosophical quips with Jigsaw himself.

"Detective Hoffman doesn't see the purpose of all of this, not the way he should. He's sharp, but shortsighted," John says, sounding almost wistful about it. "You've taken a liking to him, and he, you. That much is obvious. Overall, I've come to believe it's for the best. He'll need you, if he wants to continue my work... uninterrupted."

You can feel John's concern. The way he dwells on the future, knowing he won't be here to see it. Will the embers of his creation smoulder and burn out into ash after he's gone? Will it have all been for nothing?

"Amanda... she understands the lessons she's supposed to teach, but she's too emotional- unstable, at times. She will need to be tested again. Should she pass, she'll need an anchor. Someone to keep her... grounded."

Yeah, okay. That seems like a stretch. Amanda hadn't seemed to like you all that much the one time that you met her, but you don't bring that up. Instead, you ask, "So what, you want me to keep the peace between them? Make sure they play nice? Bit hard for me to keep my eyes on them now, don't you think?"

There's a pause, and you hear John move in his seat, before he takes a deep, rattling breath with the oxygen mask. Then, he continues.

"The ability to accurately predict human behaviour is my greatest asset in my work. It is an ability that, of my apprentices, you singularly possess. The others may be able to create the instruments, but only you can design the tests. Only you can choose who needs to be tested, and predict the outcomes, in the same way that I can."

You hum to yourself, mentally noting that he just referred to you as one of his apprentices. He has a point, though. Similar to the one that Mark had been impressing on you. There's a feeling of doom that lingers on the periphery of John's empire. Without you there to notice it, to be the stalwart defence and augur of his work, it would swallow everything he held dearly whole.

Gripping the arm of your chair, the words come before you know what you're saying.

"It's kind of a funny coincidence. My mom tried to drown me as a kid, you know," You're not sure why you tell John this. Surely it's a mistake to be so open with him. "She said the world was too sick. That it was easier to die."

"I know. It was in the paper. They printed your name, and everything," John replies, and it's a bit of a slap in the face. You wonder if he learned about it before or after he strung you up in the acid trap. You wonder if Mark knows about it, too. He's a detective, so it isn't too much of a leap to think he'd searched for information on you. It feels like a betrayal, just a little. "What did that teach you?"

You purse your lips, and choose not to answer his question directly. It seems the two of you keep doing that- replying to questions that the other hadn't asked. Maybe you're more like him than you thought.

"Mark thinks that your actions are justified, and that you're doing the world a service. I'm not sure how Amanda justifies it- maybe she just wants to be close to you, I don't know." You pause, considering.

"To be honest, I think what you do is monstrous," You confess, "It's brutal. Absolutely inhumane," You can't see John's reaction, and you get absolutely no read on him. He's silent, before you continue.

"But. I think this world needs monsters, sometimes. And that I'm one of them. That's what my mom taught me. That's what you and Mark taught me, too." You smile to yourself. "Probably not the answer you were looking for, right?"

Would Kerry think you were a monster for this? Maybe not initially, but after hearing what you'd been up to the last few months, you had to think that she probably would agree with you. That she'd be disgusted-

You freeze. Why do I keep thinking of Kerry like this? Out of the blue?

"Kerry. What're you doing with Kerry?" You ask John quietly. He takes another slow, shallow breath, before he responds.

"I was wondering if you would notice," He murmurs in reply, and you think you detect a note of amusement in his tone. "Like you, she is being tested. Right now."

"She has the will to live. Stronger than anyone I've met," You say steadfast. But there's a creeping feeling, hiding somewhere behind your lungs, that says wrong, wrong, something is wrong.

"We'll see, won't we? Like so many of her colleagues, she neglects life to focus on death. You know better than anyone." Despite how shaky he sounds, John somehow manages to sound smug.

Suddenly, it all seems like bullshit to you. Or at the very least, a resource issue.

"There are a lot of people out there who overwork themselves," You snipe, "But it's the lead detective on the Jigsaw case you happen to grab. Funny. You know, there are other ways to get good people off of your case."

"You're angry with me," John remarks, "Our work needs to continue. If she survives..."

Something occurs to you, then. John keeps talking, but his words are drown out by a whooshing in your ears- the thundering sound of blood coursing. You can't hear what he's saying, but one thought dominates your mind.

You could kill him. Right now.

You wonder how he'd do in one of his own games. One he couldn't anticipate or control. To be thrust into a situation where fear overtakes him, where his brain needs to desperately try to find a way out of the situation. If you had the time, you'd be interested to see how his philosophy fared under a bit of pressure.

But you don't have that kind of time. Instead, you could lean across the gap between you, wrap your hands around his throat, and squeeze the rest of the life out of him. You were blind, yes, but he was already dying, halfway to the grave. You would win a physical struggle.

Even if you weren't able to watch him die, you'd know- he would die afraid, angry that this wasn't like he planned. Terrified that it was all for nothing.

His reign needs to end. More... capable hands need to take over.

The only thing that stops you is a consideration of the consequences. If you were able to confirm that you could fully trust Mark... maybe you'd be able to make it out alive. But Amanda was out there, and she would want your blood for it. The accomplice, Dr. Gordon, was a wildcard. You had no idea how he'd react.

Patience. Be patient.

Your fingers twitch on the armrest. Abruptly, you stand.

"Goodbye, John. I don't think I'll see you again," You tell him, voice cold.

"You will. In one way, or another," He answers cryptically. Unlike your own, his voice almost seems to have a warmth to it now, "And you'll understand me, in time," He pauses, before he finally claims the last word- the last thing you ever hear him say.

"Goodbye, Oracle. I'm glad we met."

--

Kerry is dead.

Kerry is dead, and you don't know how, or why. And nothing makes sense.

You need answers. You need to speak to Mark- you'll find the answers in his soul and yank them out, if you have to.

Kerry didn't need to die like that. She shouldn't have died like that. You should have seen it coming, you should have warned her, you should have-

The door to the interview room opens. A man strides in, a presence you've felt before, though distantly. A woman trails into the room behind him, quiet as though deliberately trying not to make a sound. You sit in an uncomfortable plastic chair, your hands on the table in front of you.

"Comfortable?" The FBI agent asks, "I've got a few questions for you. Hope you don't mind."

The man's tone of voice conveys that he really doesn't care if you mind or not. It's immediately obvious that this is the man that Kerry was in contact with- he's brash, demanding, and you catch a hint of something a little feral, just beneath the surface.

"Of course. Happy to help, if I can," You pause. "You're FBI, right?"

You hear a shuffling of clothing, and deduce that he's pulled out his badge. As if realizing you can't see it, the man quickly adds, "That's right. Special Agent Peter Strahm"

Strahm. The one who knows the water as well as you do. He pulls out the chair from across from you, and sits. The woman's presence remains hovering like a spectre toward the back of the room.

"I'd say it's nice to meet you, but..." you grimace, "Allison was my oldest friend. It's only been a few hours since I heard that they'd... found her. Sorry if I'm not all together."

"You didn't hear it from Detective Hoffman first?" Strahm asks. Every word he speaks seems tinged with irritation, as though everything is moving too slowly for him and he's waiting for it to catch up wit where he's at. Ah, so he knows.

"No. I expect he was busy with the fallout from the discovery. She was his friend, too," Forcing the words through your teeth is a bit harder than expected, "The station radioed me and asked me to come in. They told me... the basics."

"How much did they tell you? What do you know, exactly?" Strahm's words are like daggers, pointed and direct. The man is quick, and gives no quarter in his pursuit. Clearly, he'll be a dangerous adversary for you and Mark.

But maybe it's the water thing- you find that you kind of like him, right off the bat. Short-temper and barely-concealed-rage and all.

"Just that she was found... uhm, in a Jigsaw trap. I didn't even know... she was missing. We haven't spoken in a few days, but she was pretty busy, so it wasn't that uncommon. And then suddenly I get a call-"

You'd met with John several days prior, and when you'd gone home, you'd tried to reassure yourself- Kerry is a survivor. She would be fine. You'd texted Mark, anxiously looking to talk. He hadn't replied.

Days had turned into nights with no news. Your dread had grown, until you got the call.

Guilt is choking you. If you'd just done something... been a good friend, a good person. Maybe all of this had been a mistake. It's too hard to think logically, rationally.

Kerry is dead.

"Sorry," You mumble, wiping the tears from under your sunglasses, "it's been a lot to take in."

"Take your time," Strahm says, the subtext in his tone demanding that you don't. Then, after barely a moment has passed, he moves on and adds, "Open the door and you will find me."

"Excuse me?" The phrase is so strange it snaps you out of your misery spiral.

"Mean anything to you? Did Kerry ever say anything like that?"

"No?" For once, you're drawing up a complete blank at the phrase. It means absolutely nothing to you. "Was it... was that something she told you guys?"

There is a long, pregnant pause. The air in the room, already stuffy, grows thicker.

"What did you just say? Can you repeat that?" Strahm asks, an edge to his voice that is equally quiet and dangerous. You wonder if you've slipped up somehow, in a way you haven't caught yet.

"Did she tell you that?" You repeat, still confused.

"Who were you referring to when you said 'you guys?'" Strahm asks. Your sightless gaze slides over to where you know the woman is standing, and you realize your mistake.

Clever. You'll have to watch yourself around this one.

"You and your partner" You say, gesturing her way. No point in pretending you don't know she's there, "Who I guess you haven't introduced yet."

"What I'm wondering," Strahm says as he stands and walks over to your side of the table, "Is how you knew she was here, if I didn't introduce her. It was Jigsaw who abducted you and blinded you, isn't that right?" He leans down, bracketing his arms on either side of you.

A man used to using his physicality to intimidate. He reminds you of Mark.

You smile up at him. Gloves off.

"I guess I've always been perceptive, Agent Strahm. It doesn't mean I'm not really blind," you reply.

You're not sure what you're expecting him to do, but it comes as a surprise when he grabs your sunglasses and takes them off of your face. He's close enough to you that you can hear his sharp intake of breath when he sees your eyes- or what remains of them.

"Sorry to disappoint. I assure you, the police department here isn't that incompetent. You can check the hospital records too, if you want. They ran a bunch of tests which boiled down to acid will do that." You look up at him, still smiling a little sheepishly, in a way you really hope creeps him the fuck out.

"That won't be necessary," He hisses out, pissed. It's hard to tell if he's angry with himself, you, or the world at large.

You pluck your sunglasses from his outstretched hand, without bothering to pretend that you don't know where he's holding them, and slide them back onto your face.

"Special Agent Lindsey Perez. Good afternoon," The woman finally introduces herself, and you nod in her direction, "As I understand it, you're dating the lead detective on the Jigsaw case- Mark Hoffman. How did you meet?"

Strahm leans away from you, retreating from your side of the table. You get the distinct impression he wants to flip it.

"Well, I knew him a little through Allison," You say, "But then when I was kidnapped- he was the one to find me. I got to know him better, after that."

"How charming," Strahm sneers, "How well do you know Detective Rigg?"

"Uh, not particularly well?" The questions are coming quickly, non-sequitur. Probably to keep you on your toes, "Don't tell me something's happened to him too?"

"No, don't worry. We just want to get a sense of how involved you are in all of this. Jigsaw frequently targets the police, and those associated with them," Perez makes a good good-cop to Strahm's bad-cop. Her voice is soothing, a stark contrast with Strahm's demeanour. You can see why they were partnered.

"And you're right in the heart of this. Tested yourself, and you lived to tell the tale. Your best friend is murdered. And your boyfriend's the lead investigator," Strahm makes no effort to hide his suspicion, "I'm going to take a wild leap here and say you know more about this case than the average civilian."

"That's true," And because you can't help it, you add, "Allison did tell me the FBI agent she was in touch with was a real pain in the ass to deal with."

Perez coughs, in a noise that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. Strahm doesn't. He slams his palms down on the table, in a move that makes you jump.

"And now she's dead," he nearly shouts, killing the levity as he moves back over to tower over you, "And you've got nothing to add whatsoever. You didn't see anything when you were taken, you don't know anything now, is that right?"

"It is," You answer evenly, "But I can tell you this. She never gave up on Matthews. She was sure he was alive out there. And... you're right, about me being tangled up in this. It's obvious Jigsaw goes after people who are getting close to him. I've been tortured already, so I'd turn my gaze toward the other people at the forefront, if you're worried about finding his next target."

"So how were you?" Strahm all but murmurs in your ear, hovering close to your face once again, "Getting close?"

Shit. You really have to mind your words. He's good. A truth here was better than another lie.

"I take it Allison didn't tell you she brought me in as an advisor to the case, at one point? Before I was tested." You reply quietly, "I didn't want to say- to make her look bad. We were all a bit embarrassed by it. Me, her, Rigg, Mark-"

"Why the fuck has no one told me this before now?" You hear Strahm ask in annoyance, his head turning toward Perez, "Kerry brought a civilian into the investigation, and the whole goddamn precinct knew? And no one mentioned it?"

"Because I was brought in as psychic," You reply, still unable to keep yourself from cringing.

There is another long pause of silence.

"Run that by me again," Strahm says, voice tight.

"I told you I'm perceptive. Allison believed-"

"No, no, no-" You feel like you can hear Strahm pushing his palms into his eyes, "You've got to be kidding. Is everyone at this division a complete moron?"

"This is why no one told you. It didn't go anywhere, we didn't get any leads from it. It was a last ditch attempt. But maybe Jigsaw is superstitious. He must have found out somehow. I don't know." Skirting around the truth seemed to be working better than evading his questions outright.

As Kerry had often said, you weren't a good liar. But maybe you were improving.

"Is that how you could tell I was here?" Perez asks, sounding genuinely curious. Strahm lets out a noise of complaint and protest at her question. You nod in response.

"Yeah. I guess," You shrug.

"Great, great. A complete circus, all of this. Christ. I think we're done here." Strahm walks back around to the entrance of the room, his steps tinged with a frustration that echoes off of him in waves. Before he leaves, he turns to you.

"Oh, any predictions you want to tell me before I leave? Like who the killer is?" He asks, like he still can't believe what he's heard.

You say the first thing that comes to your mind.

"Just one bit of advice. Keep a ballpoint pen on you," You say. With another scoff, he leaves, slamming the door to the room behind him with so much force that the room shakes.

---

[4:53PM - Outgoing] We need to talk.

[5:12PM - Incoming] little busy right now

[5:13PM - Outgoing] I spoke to the FBI today. I swear to God, Mark. If you don't talk to me I'll ask for a follow-up interview.

[5:17PM - Incoming] you do that you burn yourself

[5:19PM - Outgoing] My best friend is dead. Fucking try me.

---

Mark calls you. He can't even spare a visit.

"Do I need to be actually worried? Or are you just blowing off steam?" Is the first thing that he says to you when you answer your phone. You immediately get the impression that he's not concerned in the slightest that you might actually report him.

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You demand to know.

"Answer my question first. Did you mean it when you threatened me?" Mark huffs out a laugh, "Because if you're going to threaten me, you should mean it."

Just like that, all of the fight in you, the anger and the fury and the guilt, is snuffed from you like a candle light. God, you're tired. You've missed his voice.

"What am I supposed to do, Mark? How else can I get your attention?" You hate how much it sounds like you're pleading with him. "You haven't spoken to me in days. You leave me in the dark. My best friend turns up dead. What am I supposed to do?"

He sighs. "I wanted to keep you out of it. Knew you wouldn't like Kerry being tested, and I didn't want you more involved-"

You laugh, strained and almost delirious as you cut him off. "Involved? Mark, up until now you have gleefully drawn me further and further into this chasm. Don't tell me you regret it now."

"Things... are going to get bad over the next few days," He tells you, voice low, "I needed you separate, so that if things go south-"

"Did you rig Kerry's test to fail?" You repeat, voice like stone, "No more secrets, Mark. You want us to be partners. I need to be able to trust you. So this is it. Tell me the truth."

"No," He answers, and you can tell he's holding something back. At your silence, he relents and continues, "But I suspected Amanda would. She's been killing all of her targets."

You let out a shaky exhale. You don't feel angry. You feel empty. Mark continues.

"Kerry was getting closer to the truth. And with those FBI Agents on our trail too... listen. John's going to be dead by the end of the week. Amanda too. I figured these FBI Agents, they'd be able to pin it all on her. Then after she's dead, it's a nice and neat end to the story," You can hear him frown. He sounds tired by it all, too, "But they know about me. They know there's an accomplice. They realized Amanda and John couldn't have strung Kerry up like that alone. I'll need to kill them both, too."

John Kramer had certainly been right about one thing. Without your influence, his empire would crumble under Mark's leadership alone.

In your mind's eye, you see a pile of limbs. Bodies piled high, twisted and broken, jagged pieces of metal jutting from their sides. The pile seems to move, breathing like a beating heart. An amalgam lump of desperate moves. One of the corpses looks at you with empty eyes. It looks like Mark.

"You can't kill every single person that catches your scent, Mark," You tell him incredulously, "You think this will end well for you if you just murder anyone who gets in your way?" You feel exasperated, but its mixed with a kind of relief: that you're talking again, that he's being honest with you. That maybe, you can move forward and get through this. That you can help.

"I can until they stop coming," Mark mutters darkly. A chill runs through you as you realize he's not kidding. He really would kill his way through hoards of people, until the walls closed in around him. Corpse pile, indeed.

"And then what? Mark, come on, think about this. You can't slaughter the entire FBI," He growls in frustration, and you continue, "Run me through the current plan. Let's talk. Two heads are better than one."

And he does. Mark tells you everything about his plan for the next game- John Kramer's final one, it seems. The testing of Jeff Denlon, his wife Lynn, and Rigg, with the two games played simultaneously. Jigsaw's magnum opus, with the dramatic return of Eric Matthews. Mark would be indisposed, cast as an apparent victim through the trial. To swoop in at the last moment, a hero.

"And if Amanda doesn't fail- well, I'll make sure she does. Amanda and John will die. You leave that to me," Mark tells you. You nod, working through the plan again in your mind.

"Okay. Listen, I really think you should hold off on trying to kill the FBI agents. They are not going to die easy, Mark. Fuck, if we just had more time, we could stage this better, to really get them off your trail..."

"You think I can't handle a couple of FBI agents?" He remarks, and you can feel the excitement at the challenge of a rivalry in his tone. You can't exactly fault him for that. Part of you had been a little thrilled during the interrogation earlier, too.

"Fine, give it a shot, then. Have it your way. Don't say I didn't warn you," You sulk. What is the point of being psychic if no one listens to you?

Mark's problem, you think to yourself, is that he doesn't realize how close this all is to the precipice of complete ruin. That he is proud enough to believe he would be able to take up the mantle of Jigsaw alone, once this last game with John Kramer and Amanda is through.

You wonder if he sees you truly as a partner, or as one of his accomplices. Despite his honesty with you, you file that thought away for later- what is it? Just paranoia? Or a problem that will need to be dealt with?

Speaking of problems: Strahm and Perez know that there's an accomplice. Likely a male accomplice, one who could do the heavy lifting.

Until they find one, they won't give up- not the agents, nor the FBI itself, which would undoubtedly send more agents in their stead to pick up where they left off.

Hm. An accomplice of Jigsaw's. You smile to yourself.

Good thing you know about a spare one of those. Who needs to sacrifice a rook, when you could play a knight?

---

A/N- Sorry this took (checks clock) four months to write. I figured it would be better to just stop agonizing about the writing/rewriting and put it out there. Do you guys mind that we're drawing away from the romance, and more toward the MC's journey? Is anyone still reading this? If not, then I'll just do what I want, anyway 😌

TAG LIST: @icarusinstatic @honimello @haven-is-happy @karmaswitch @the-jester-calamity @teamhawkeye @thebrideofcaliban @mjrkime @kaelyn-lobrutto24 @mrs-hotforhoffman @aliengutzstuff @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

[pedrito-friskito]

strawberry wine - joel miller x ofc!liv stone/fem!reader

during - part fourteen

series masterlist | main masterlist | read on ao3

life goes on, for a time.

a/n: a BIG one wowowowowow okay the end of this one fully got away from me and I was possessed by SOMETHING but idk man fuckin’ enjoy, more on the way, thank you always for the love 🤍

word count: 6.4k

warnings: MY BLOG IS 18+, MINORS DNI, angst, backstory, canon typical violence and injuries, death/murder, guns, knives, drinking, some rough sex, ass-play, spit-play (POSSESSED I TELL YOU), joel miller is a menace and so am I.

✨follow @friskito-library for updates on new chapters/works!✨

You keep going.

It’s easier, honestly, that it’s ever been before. There had been so many moments, between the outbreak and seeing Joel again at that gas station, where you didn’t know if you could keep going, if there was enough left to make you want to.

Deanna had her ways, yanking you out of it more often that not with a bottle of gin and a you keep your chin up, girl. And the kids — well, one toothy grin from Emily or a cheesy joke from Henry and you knew you had more in you. Nick helped some too, though he was more of a distraction than a solution, something infinitely more evident to you now, to you both.

You’d hurt him, ending it finally, completely, the way you did, and his reaction had cut you deep, but it had to be done. You couldn’t keep up a charade, and in retrospect, yes, maybe you should have waited, stopped yourself from falling into Joel’s arms (and bed) again until you’d told Nick what was happening, but…

I can’t love anyone the way I love him.

It’s always gonna be him.

It would have unfolded the way it did no matter what.

It’s Joel. It’s always gonna be Joel.

And despite the guilt you chase away with deep kisses and glasses of liquor, it’s easier, to keep going. It almost feels…normal, in a way you haven’t felt in a long fucking time.

+

Life is still bleak as hell; there’s no getting around that. FEDRA’s been kicking into high gear in Boston, handing out punishments more than ration cards, refusing people at the gates, falling back on some bullshit about overpopulation, that there’s not enough food or beds or resources for any more people. 

You’ve heard rumours that the QZ in Philadelphia was overrun, that the reason there have been so many survivors at the Boston gates is because they fled to the closest QZ still standing. You’ve heard rumours about Kansas City, that FEDRA’s become more ruthless there than anywhere else in the country, that getting caught out past curfew gets you hung rather than beaten. Or worse.

Joel moves in, officially. Not that he has that many things to move into your apartment, but his clothes take up space in your closet, his toothbrush beside yours, and you wake up beside him every morning. You let yourself get used to it, to feeling his breath on the back of your neck when the sun comes up, arm slung around your waist, always keeping you fit against him while you sleep. It’s nice. It’s really fucking nice.

Joel and Tommy take the handyman jobs in the apartment buildings, and you and Tess try to stick together, taking the same gigs more often than not. You pool your resources, and the three of them are quick to offer up help to support the kids, to take the pressure off you and Deanna. You’re grateful as all hell, and so is Deanna, despite her relatively grouchy demeanour towards you, ever since you told her you ended it with Nick, officially.

You thought she’d understand, to a degree. It had taken nearly a half bottle of gin in the early days of the QZ, but she’d gotten the full story out of you, the epic love affair of Joel Miller and Liv Stone, the unfettered version. You’d fallen asleep on her couch covered in tissues that night, woke up with the worst hangover you’d had since you were eighteen and got drunk with Anna on wine coolers over Spring Break. Deanna had offered you some sympathy, then.

But now, she’s been taking your — could you even call it a breakup? — your severance from Nick a little too harshly.

“He’s the reason I was in lockup the night Angie beat the shit out of me,” you’d reminded her, feeling a twinge in your side at the memory. “Or did you forget that?”

“Don’t bullshit me, Liv,” she’d thrown back, her face the harshest you’d ever seen it. “He put you in lockup to smuggle your friends through the gate. I’m not a fucking idiot. Don’t try and blame that on him. You got your ass kicked cuz you pissed Angie off, plain and simple. That’s not on Nick.”

“Oh, so then I should blame you?” You’d thrown a hand in her direction, and she’d glared so hard you thought she was gonna burn a hole through your skull. “I pissed off Angie trying to get those meds for Henry, which you asked me to do. So if you wanna start pointing fingers, start looking in the mirror.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t have gotten the meds for Henry?”

“Don’t put words in my mouth.”

“You can’t talk yourself out of this, Liv. You knew what you were doing with Nick, all five fucking years. You knew exactly what you were—”

“It’s Joel!” you’d nearly screamed, tears crawling up your throat. “I never thought I’d see him again. It’s a second fucking chance, Deanna. I can’t waste that. I won’t. And I was as honest as I could be with Nick from the start. He knew about Joel, he knew I still loved him, he knew I couldn’t ever love him the way I love Joel. I never once told him I could.”

“Oh, and that makes it all better?”

“I know that I hurt him. But he hurt me, too, in case you give a shit. I know that I did a terrible fucking thing, I’m a terrible fucking person, and I’ll feel guilty about it forever, but it’s Joel. And I just…I can’t do anything else.”

She’d stared at you long and hard then, not so harsh a glare as before. She put her hands on her hips, boot tapping against the floor. “I have to go get the kids from school. Just…I’ll see you Friday, for dinner.”

You just nodded, swallowing hard, the tears retreating. “Friday.”

“Bring Joel.”

“Okay.”

(Dinner had been awkward as hell, to start. The kids had stared Joel down for the first hour, but by the time the table was being set, Emily was showing off her latest drawings and Henry was trying to rope Joel into a game of Monopoly. You helped Deanna with dinner, and while she was mostly quiet, before you left that night, she hugged you tight and whispered: “You’re not a bad person, Liv. You’re not.”)

After your official reconciliation with Joel — and subsequent fallout with Nick — Tess was the next person you went to. She stood firmly by the conversation you’d had in the food bank, kept to her agreement to join up with you to smuggle, and that was that.

You can’t force his hand in this.

Maybe I can.

You knew she had — Joel had given you the brief version of their conversation — and you were grateful, but it was just another thing you felt guilty for.

“You don’t have to,” she says to you. You’re outside the wall, heading for the hotel a few blocks out of the QZ, to scope out your route. Your drop is almost at the city limits, with some smugglers from Hartford, ones you’d happened across on the radio. You’ve been spending more time with Abe in the radio room in your spare time, trying to make as many new connections as you can. “Feel guilty, I mean. I didn’t give him to you. He was never mine to give. I knew that from the start.”

“What d’you mean?”

“He says your name in his sleep. I thought he was just mumbling for the longest time — y’know, Liv, live — then I figured it out. I asked Tommy once, but he wouldn’t tell me anything. And well, I know the rest now.”

You chew at your lip, bat swinging lightly in your grip, adjusting the backpack strap on your shoulder. Your bags are mostly empty; you’re anticipating a good food drop from the Hartford people, and they’d asked mainly for drugs in return, which you were happy to supply. You still have some left from the Providence drop, before Joel and Tess had showed up. It feels like a year ago, not a few weeks.

“I don’t want to be the reason you’re alone, Tess.”

“I’m not alone,” she tells you quickly, an actual smile on her face. “I have you. And Tommy. And Joel, still, in a different kind of way. It doesn’t matter. Life’s too fucking short, and I couldn’t…” She trails off, shakes her head, shrugs her shoulders. “I’m not alone.”

You shoot her a glance, seeing the way her thumb is rubbing at the wedding ring still on her finger. It’s her nervous habit, you’ve noticed. “We’ll find you someone,” you say, almost jokingly, trying to lighten the mood, elbowing her gently. “I’ll set you up, add QZ matchmaker to my resume.”

Tess barks a laugh. “Please, god, just no fucking FEDRA soldiers, yeah? I don’t think I could deal with the amount of testosterone that fucker Cowan is carrying around.” She squints at you, turning to you slightly. “Tell me he was at least good in bed. He must have been, for you to put up with that bullshit.”

You force yourself to laugh in return, staring at the ground ahead, kicking pieces of debris from your path. “He was much nicer, when it was just me and him. And I hurt him bad.” You shrug, sighing. “It’s the past but he…yes, to answer your question, he was very good in bed.”

“As good as Joel?”

You nearly choke, sputtering out an actual laugh at her bluntness. “You really want me to answer that?”

“Hey, it’s just us out here.”

“No one’s as good as Joel,” you say, and she throws her head back with a louder laugh. “Best I ever had. Ever. In my life.”

Tess just keeps laughing, pulls the knife from her belt and taps it against your bat. “Amen to that.”

The conversation wanders as you walk. She tells you a bit more about Baltimore, the few smuggling jobs they’d pulled before they’d gotten kicked out of the QZ. Turns out, her plans had been similar to yours: get a FEDRA soldier on her side, entice them with the goodies she smuggled in, threaten them with blackmail. Rinse and repeat. And it worked, for a time.

“There was this one guy, Anderson. Joel never liked him, and really, neither did I, but he was one of the first we got to agree to help. And…you know, Cowan actually reminds me of him.” She huffs a laugh. “That’s probably why I hate him, just out of fucking principle.”

“You don’t have to hate him.”

“He’s FEDRA, he put you in lockup, and he’s a jackass.”

“I also cheated on him, technically.”

She shrugs, giving you a conspiratorial grin. “Best you ever had? You did what you had to.”

You just laugh, but the sound feels hollow.

“Liv,” Tess says, and you stop short, turning towards her when she grabs your arm. “Jokes aside, I just…I get it. Why you did what you did. I know you feel guilty, and I know Cowan said some shitty things to you, but…we do terrible things, sometimes. To survive.”

You scoff. “That’s the understatement of the fucking century.” With a sigh, you push forward, gravel crunching under your boots, and Tess follows suit. “Joel said that too. That he did some terrible shit out there to survive. That we’re not the same as we were. And we’re not. I’m not.”

“Yeah, well, the world hasn’t exactly left much room for shit to stay the same, has it?”

The bat swings in your grip, and you let the tip knock against the toe of your boot. “Not so much. Never thought it would turn me into a killer, mind you. But…we do terrible shit, right?” You glance at her from the corner of your eye, feeling her gaze locked on you. “And no, I’m not just talking about Infected.”

Tess nods, slowly, her throat bobbing. “I…I shot that soldier, Anderson. First FEDRA soldier I ever killed, probably won’t be the last. But, it was either me or him, and I shot first. Then again, cuz the first one didn’t kill him.” Her brow is hard, fingers twitching over the gun strapped to her thigh. “It was either me or him.”

You nod, and the memory is rising in your throat and spilling off you tongue before you can stop it.

It was early days, just after the wall was completed, when restlessness got the better of you and you wanted — no, needed — to get out of the QZ, just for a while. There were fewer connections, back then, less people out in the open, more dead on the roads. You didn’t like Geoff from the get-go, something about him just made you feel super fucking uncomfortable, like every word out of his mouth was drenched in grease. But, you didn’t know any better, back then, and you wanted to believe a deal was a deal.

“He set me up,” you tell Tess, tightening your grip on the bat. Retelling the story makes the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “He’d managed to get a few Infected locked inside this old hair salon, and threw me to the wolves, basically. Took the bat from me. I got fucking lucky; there was a straight razor left in one of the drawers, and I took them both down. It was the first time I’d killed one since the outbreak.”

“What happened to Geoff?”

“Once I got away, found him a couple hours down the road, got his gun off him and put a bullet in his head, got my bat back. I figured if he kept going, he’d just try and screw the next person he made a deal with, and on and on it would go. I had to end it.”

Tess nods. “You did what you had to.”

You scoff. “That’s not the worst part.”

After Geoff, you got jumpy. You didn’t want to let up on the smuggling, and you were still trying to find new connections, but you took more precautions. You brought a gun every time now, along with the bat. You only met in locations you chose, and refused anyone who tried to persuade you to go somewhere else. You didn’t trust people; you couldn’t.

“This guy, Eric, he just rubbed me the wrong way that day. He wasn’t a bad guy, per se; I knew he ran with some shitty people but he didn’t seem so bad. He met me down in the subway, simple ammo trade.” You blow out a breath. “I thought he was reaching for a gun, and I pulled the trigger before he could. Like you said: it was either him or me. And I chose me.”

You pause, waiting for Tess to say it again. You did what you had to.

“Three days later, his wife shows up at the gate, asking if he’d come through, toting this little boy that was a dead fucking ringer for his dad. I thought I was seeing a ghost.” You bite down on the inside of your cheek. “They still live in Boston. Her son is the same age as Emily.”

It’s a few minutes, before Tess has anything more to say. “You couldn’t have known.”

“You’re right,” you agree, nodding. “I couldn’t. But it still doesn’t hurt any less. When they’re infected, it’s easier. Almost. I sometimes wonder if they’re still…them inside, but same thing. It’s either you or them, and you have to decide. You do what you have to — even if it’s terrible — to stay alive. To survive.”

Tess opens her mouth to say something in response, but all hell breaks loose before she can get a word out.

You’ve turned down the road the hotel is on, and there are cars everywhere, craters in the earth from the bombings, debris and decay everywhere you look. The bullets ring out from behind the vehicles, and you grab Tess by the handle of her backpack, yanking her behind a nearby truck. The gunfire makes it rattle. “Fuck!”

“These the guys from Hartford?”

“Shouldn’t be. We’re not even close to the city limits yet.”

When you chance a look around the truck, your heart jumps into your throat. There’s at least five of them, all with dark-coloured bandanas covering the lower halves of their faces, two of them closer than the rest. Guns drawn, scores of ammo hanging from their belts. You adjust your grip on the bat just as Tess screams, and you turn to see her being pulled away, one of the raiders yanking her by the hair. You shout as one tries to grab you the same, but you slip out of reach, swinging the bat. It makes contact with his knees, a loud crunch making you flinch. He falls like a rock and you pull your knife out quickly, slamming the blade into his skull.

You do what you have to.

Abandoning the bat for the moment, you grab the guy’s gun, averting your eyes from his face. It’s an automatic, and you pop up from behind the truck, taking aim and pulling the trigger. The three that hadn’t advanced don’t stand a chance, bodies falling before they have the chance to shoot back at you. 

The one holding Tess is trying to pull her into one of the storefronts along the side of the road.

“Hey!” you shout, the word nearly a growl. “Let her go, asshole!”

The guy turns, seeing his fallen comrades, and fumbles. It’s just enough for Tess to get her knife out and swing upwards. It ends up lodged in his throat rather than his head, and he drops awkwardly, clawing at his throat, blood pouring around his fingers. Bile rises in your throat, and you breathe slow as he hits the ground. Tess pulls her gun out a moment later, and the gunshot echoes through the road.

You sprint over to her, each of you giving the other a once over. “You good?”

“Fine. You?”

“Fine.”

“Who taught you to shoot like that?”

You actually laugh this time. “Cowan.”

Tess’s jaw drops. “Motherfucker.”

You collect all the guns and ammunition you can carry. One of the raiders has a nice-looking bowie knife on his belt, and you take it, sheath and all. Tess makes the rounds, filling her bag with ammo, while you try and leave some space; you still have to make it to the edge of the city.

Being as heavily armed as you now are earns you some weird looks from the Hartford smugglers once you reach the city limits. The chain link fence that was once the only thing standing between you and getting the hell out of Boston has not done well over the years. The metal is cut in a million more places, bent in others, no doubt the result of years of Infected climbing over, survivors trying to make it to the QZ gates. When you explain what happened, the leader — the one you’d been dealing with over the radio, a tall woman named Gwen — softens. “We lost a few of our own to raiders in New Haven. Shit’s getting dark.” She sighs. “Darker than it already was.”

The deal goes easily, which you’re grateful for. You throw in one of the guns and some ammo you pilfered from the raiders to sweeten the deal, and Gwen returns your generosity with some of her own: a carton of eggs. Fresh ones. It’s been a while now, since the Boston food bank has had anything fresh that wasn’t an apple or a tomato. Meat was becoming more and more scarce, and so were eggs. The ones Deanna used for breakfast were the powdered kind, sat like a lead weight in your stomach no matter how much coffee you washed them down with.

“If you have eggs, does that mean…chickens?” Tess asks, curiosity dripping from her voice, and you can’t help the way your stomach growls at the thought of chicken wings. 

Gwen laughs. “I’m not having the chicken or the egg debate with you, but yes, there are chickens. I don’t suppose you have seeds, in Boston? Fruits, veggies?”

“We do,” you nod.

“Bring us some next time, and we’ll bring you one of the hens in return.”

You and Tess debate the best way to cook a chicken all the way home.

+

Once you’re safely back in the QZ, you and Tess unload the guns in one of your caches, head back to the apartments to divvy the food up between you and Joel’s apartment, Tess and Tommy’s, and Deanna’s. She goes to take the food up to Deanna, and you pull out the bowie knife you’d nicked.

It’s as good an olive branch as any.

You find Nick out on patrol, standing outside the same alleyway you’d stopped in when Tommy had arrived in Boston, when Nick told you Deanna was looking for you. At first, he makes no indication he’s even noticed you, his eyes trained forward, hands glued to his gun, his jaw set.

“I know you don’t want to see me,” you say, your voice low, forcing yourself to look casual. “But, there’s something I want to say. Need to. Please?”

After a beat, Nick turns, his face still schooled blank, but when you step after him, deeper into the alley, the mask cracks. “What?”

“This is for you,” you say, pulling the bowie knife out from where you’d stashed it in your jacket.

Nick told you once, about a gift he’d received from his father, when he first joined the army. A knife, similar to the one you now hold towards him. The blade was engraved with his family name, the date he enlisted, sheathed in fine leather. He lost it, on Outbreak Day, in a fight with an Infected soldier.

“It’s…I know, it doesn’t make up for what I did. I don’t think anything can. But I just…I want you to know that I’m sorry, truly sorry, and if hating me makes you feel better, then that’s okay. But I never meant for things to turn out this way. And what I said before, about Joel, it’s the truth, but I never wanted to hurt you like I did, and I hope you know that.”

He takes the knife from you, pulls the blade from the sheath, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he inspects it. “Where’d you get this?”

“Does it matter?”

Nick scoffs a laugh. “If I had a dollar for every time you’ve said that to me.”

“I’m sorry, Nick,” you say, nearly reaching a hand out to him, but stopping yourself. “I really am.”

After a long moment, he nods, still staring down at the knife. “I only ever wanted you to be happy, Liv. To be safe. And if that fucking…if Joel is the one to do that, then I have to be okay with that.” He swallows so hard you can see his throat bob. “It’ll take some damn time, but I’ll…I’ll get there, I think. I’ll try. Just don’t expect me to be friends with him, yeah?”

You laugh. “I don’t. I just…I am sorry, Nick. I feel like a broken record, but…”

“It helps,” he says with a nod.

“Good.” It feels awkward, suddenly, and you take it as your cue to leave. “I’m gonna go.”

“See you around,” he says, and you just nod, heading towards the street, out of the alley. “Hey, Liv?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re not a bad person. You did a shitty thing, but you’re not a bad person.”

The corner of your mouth twitches. “Thanks, Nick.”

He nods again, and you turn on your heel, heading back towards the apartments.

+

Time moves on. 

Nick still keeps his distance, but he doesn’t look at you with sheer hatred in his eyes anymore, so that’s nice. Deanna learns you’ve made peace with each other, and tells you you did good. It helps. The guilt still lingers a bit, but it helps. 

You keep up your smuggling, bringing Tess and Joel and Tommy — and any combination of the three — along with you every time. You teach them your routes, your hiding spots, where your caches are. Joel’s impressed, if not a little hesitant, Tommy of a similar mind. Tess remains firm that you’re a badass, and is always the first to volunteer to come with you.

You’re all still quiet, about your pasts, about the time leading up to the four of you being in Boston together. Except for what Tess told you, the story you returned — one she swore she wouldn’t pass on to Joel, one you knew you had to tell him yourself.

You will, in time. You know you have to. But…you’re not there yet. And in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t fucking matter.

None of it does.

Before you know it, it’s been nearly six months since they arrived, and you decide to celebrate, the only way you can in the QZ: food and booze.

“Family dinner?” Joel repeats, his hands on his hips, head cocked to the side. It’s early in the morning, you’re both getting ready to head out, pulling on clothes and shoving feet into boots. You usually sleep fully dressed, boots and all, but Joel’s tendency to get you naked has become a nightly occurrence, and sometimes you’re too worn out to redress when you’re done.

You turn on your heel, head for the kitchen, opening one of the cabinets and pulling out a jar of tomato sauce and setting it on the counter. Joel’s close behind, grabbing the jar when you put it down, smirking down at the label. “Look familiar?”

His jaw twitches, something nostalgic in his eyes. “Same shit I used to buy in Texas.” He smirks, setting it down again, sliding his arms around your waist. “Didn’t we make spaghetti, at my place? What was that, our second date?”

You lean back against him, covering his hands with yours, lacing your fingers together. “I made spaghetti; you tried to make risotto.”

“That’s right,” he agrees and his hands move to your hips, turning you to face him. “That was the first night we—”

“Uh-huh,” you cut him off, leaning up on your toes until your mouth brushes his. “It was.”

Joel slides his hands up under your shirt, palms curling around your ribs, giving you a hungry kiss. “And now you expect me to sit through dinner with…?”

“Tommy and Tess.”

He growls, ducking his head to bury his face in your neck. “To sit through dinner with my brother and Tess, thinking about that the whole time.”

You hum, tangling a hand in his hair. “I’ll be thinking about it too, if it’s any consolation. I’m always thinking about it.”

“You’re gonna be the death of me, woman,” he groans, nipping at your throat.

You’re both late, Tess giving you a pointed look when Joel pecks you goodbye when you meet her out front. “I swear, you two are worse than teenagers sometimes,” she mumbles, and you just laugh.

The day goes quickly — you and Tess each work a shift in the donation hall, which you’re told is shutting down, and the food bank — and before you know it, you’re back at the apartment, putting pots on the stove, pulling a bottle of whiskey from the space behind the fridge. 

You and Tess are already a little sauced by the time Joel and Tommy come through the door. Tommy has paint smeared on his cheek and Joel is laughing, that kind of belly laugh you haven’t heard since Austin. You grin as he kisses you hello, Tommy pecking your cheek once Joel disappears towards the bedroom to get changed. “Kisses from all the Millers,” you laugh, stirring the sauce on the stove. “Aren’t I a lucky gal.”

Joel pokes his head out of the bathroom, brow furrowed. “Pardon?”

Tess laughs with you, pulling the chair beside her out for Tommy to sit. She slides him a glass of whiskey a second later. “What the hell is on your face, man?”

“Ah, hell.”

The evening passes so comfortably, you wonder if you’re dreaming, for a moment or two. The boys both won’t shut up about how delicious your spaghetti is — even though the pasta is the flourless crap FEDRA hands out, your sauce more than makes up for it — and it’s not long before you’ve polished off the bottle of whiskey between the four of you. Your chest feels warm, from the alcohol, the good food, the company.

Once you’re all done eating, Tommy produces a deck of cards and convinces you all to play a few rounds of euchre. You and Tess team up and kick the boys’ ass, to the point where Joel declares you must be cheating, which Tess is having none of. “Never thought you’d be a sore loser, Miller!”

The game changes from euchre to war, and Tess and Tommy make their own rules, deciding to smack the table as hard as they can when the card matches, even if the other’s hand is already there. It has them both howling after a couple rounds, you and Joel just chuckling as you watch. Joel slides your chair closer to his, close enough that he can loop an arm around your neck, hauling you against his chest.

He buries his nose in your hair as you lean against him, moving down until his mouth is close to your ear. “How much longer we gonna entertain these two, hmm? I need you all to myself, baby. Need to be inside you.”

Your thighs clench, cheeks flaring with heat, and you smack him in the chest, burying your face in the collar of your shirt.

He just chuckles in your ear, low as anything. “You like that, huh, baby? You gonna let me fuck you, aren’t you? Always so good for me. Promise, I’m gonna make you feel so damn good, baby.”

You elbow him in the ribs. Hard. Hard enough that he lets out a low oomph, and both Tess and Tommy’s heads snap in your direction. You stare back at them, feigning innocence, whiskey buzzing in the back of your skull. “What?”

A few more games of cards, and Tess literally falls out of her chair, laughing the whole way down. Joel declares the night officially over, and Tommy gets Tess to her feet, half-carries her towards the door. “You need help?” Joel asks, and Tommy shakes his head.

“Nah, we’ll be fine. You two have a good night. Thanks for dinner, Liv.”

“You’re welcome, Tommy.”

The door closes behind them, and Joel lingers, locking the door, closing the curtains, clearing off the table. Meanwhile, you head for the bed, fumbling with the buttons on your shirt — Joel’s shirt, always Joel’s shirt — before giving up and falling forward onto the mattress, reaching for Joel’s pillow, bunching it beneath your head.

The bed creaks a moment later, Joel’s weight settling over you, hands planted either side of you, mouth at the back of your neck. “You’re wearing far too many clothes, missy.”

“You should fix that,” you slur at him, turning your face enough to see the shadow of him above you. You wiggle your hips, lifting your ass until it presses against his crotch, and Joel hisses. “You got promises to make good on, Joel Miller.”

“I do,” he replies, letting out a low hum as he drags his hand down your spine. “Don’t I?”

He shuffles back, and the loss makes you whine, but he slides your needs apart a moment later, grips your hips and lifts until your ass is in the air, face still pressed into the pillow. Joel doesn’t waste any time, fingers curling in the waist of your leggings and pulling them down, taking your underwear with them. You barely have a chance to breathe, his mouth covering you a moment later, tongue darting between your folds. “Fucking christ, Joel.”

He hums again, the noise vibrating through you, one hand coming down on your cheek in a quick spank a second later. You can feel yourself flooding his tongue, already wet from his teasing at the table. Reaching one hand back, you card your fingers through his hair, keeping him against you, angling your hips back to push yourself further into his face.

“Pretty girl,” he rasps, dragging the flat of his tongue up and down, back up and back down again. The rhythm makes your muscles tighten, the promise of an orgasm prickling at your senses. “Always taste so good.” He gives you another quick spank, the motion making your flesh tingle. “Always feel so good.”

“Joel.”

“Don’t worry, baby,” he grumbles, diving back in for a moment before pulling back once more. “I’m gonna fuck you so good, just like I promised.”

You moan into the pillow, whining again when he pulls back, your hand falling out of his hair, flopping sideways onto the bed. You curl your fingers in the bedsheets instead, gasping loudly when he presses two wet fingers into you, right to the knuckle in one fell swoop. His thumb reaches up, pushes lightly between your cheeks, and you let out a choked noise you didn’t know you were capable of.

“That feel good?” he asks, and you nod, your face still pressed to his pillow. “You want more, baby?”

You nod again, furiously.

“Want you inside me,” you murmur, your eyes rolling back in your skull as his thumb presses harder. “Fuck, Joel, please.”

There’s the shuffling of fabric, the clink of his belt buckle, the front of his thighs pressed to the backs of yours. You turn your head slightly, just enough to see him, the hem of his t-shirt tucked between his teeth, his cock in his hand. The sight alone makes you clench around his fingers, biting your lip as he pulls them out. They dig into the meat of your ass a moment later, spreading you open just a touch more. His thumb stays where it is, and you watch, stomach coiled in anticipation as he leans forward just slightly, drops his jaw until the t-shirt falls from his mouth, and spits.

It lands right where his thumb is, slides down over where you’re already drenched, and he flexes his hips forward. You try to bury your moan in his pillow, but Joel reaches down with his other hand, fists your hair in his hand, tugs a little.

“I wanna hear you, baby.”

“The neighbours—”

“I don’t give a fuck, Liv. Let me hear you.”

A choked moan falls out as he slams all the way forward, burying himself to the hilt, his thumb pressing down at the same time. You keep your face to the side, keep your eyes trained on his. He lets go of your hair just to take hold of your hip, pulling back just to slam forward again, the feeling and movement making your thighs shake.

“Joel, fuck—”

“That’s right,” he grits, and his pace only gets faster, the apartment filling with the sound of skin on skin. It drives you wild. “That’s fuckin’ right. Say it again.”

He spanks you again, just that much harder, and you cum.

It hits you like a freight train, your back arching fiercely as you lose it, eyes screwed shut, thighs shuddering against Joel’s. Faintly, you hear him groan, barely aware of the next spank he gives. You’re half-sure you’ll have a handprint on your ass come morning, but you don’t fucking care. His name spills from your lips, somewhere between a moan and a gasp, and your stomach flutters as he fists his hand in the back of your shirt and drags you up.

You can’t catch your breath, your chest heaving as he takes your chin in his hand, one arm banded around your middle as he keeps slamming into you, dropping his fingers between your legs. You don’t know where one orgasm finishes and the second begins, but he covers your mouth with his, drinks your noises down like they’re whiskey instead of moans.

“That’s my girl,” he whispers against your lips, his hips stuttering against your ass. “Love you so goddamned much.”

You flail a hand back, diving your fingers into his hair, tugging until his head moves back slightly, so you can look him in the eyes. “Then cum,” you murmur, leaning forward enough to bite at his bottom lip. “Cum for me.”

He does, his entire body shuddering with it, his grip on you like an iron vice. The warmth is delicious, spreading through your lower half like the whiskey had, only the feeling of Joel is that much more addictive, always leaving you wanting more. You both collapse forward a second later, a tangle of limbs and lips, never far from reach.

+

Joel wakes with a jolt. The nightmares have been less and less common, since he got to Boston, since he started sleeping in the same bed as you again, but they still show their faces every once in a while. Usually the drinking keeps them at bay, but tonight they’re intent to haunt him.

You’re not where you should be, tucked against his chest, and for a moment, panic seizes his heart, makes his hands go cold.

“Liv?”

You’re perched on the edge of the bed, knees drawn up to your chest, staring out the window. His mostly unbuttoned shirt is falling off your shoulders, and when he calls your name, you glance at him quickly before your gaze moves back out the window. Joel doesn’t miss the shine in your eyes, and sits up slow, reaches for you, rubbing one hand up your back.

“You all right?”

“I’m happy,” you reply, head tilting back on your shoulders, face illuminated by the moonlight. “I am unreasonably happy, Joel. I’ve done so much terrible shit, and yet here I am, stupidly, unreasonably, unfathomably happy.”

He reaches up, pinches your cheek lightly, catches the tear in the corner of your eye. “Then why you cryin’, baby?”

“Cuz I know there’s a chance that I could wake up tomorrow, and it could all be gone.” Your voice cracks, and Joel sits up further, slides down the bed until he’s pressed against your side. “That you could be gone.”

“Never,” he tells you, and opens his arms to you, sighing when you fall into them, presses his mouth to the crown of your head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere, baby. I’m right here, you hear me? I’m right here.”

PREV | NEXT

[tinytinyblogs]

San As Your Boyfriend

Boyfriend

(n.) A person who 90% of the time annoy you, and 10% of the time makes you forget the 90%

Ateez masterlist here

San is so proud to be your boyfriend that he can't help but talk about you all the time. He's always telling the other members how cute you are, how smart you are, and how much he loves you. He even wears your sweaters around the dorm so that everyone can see how lucky he is to have you. Sometimes, the other members have to shut him up because he's getting too annoying. But they know that he's just being a proud boyfriend, and they can't help but smile at his enthusiasm.

San is a very expressive person, and he loves to talk about his day. He'll often come home from work and lay his head on your lap while he tells you all about what happened. He'll use his hands to gesture and his eyes to emphasize his points. And he'll always end his story with a big smile on his face. If you try to ignore him while he's talking, he'll start to whine. He'll say things like, "But you're not listening to me!" or "I want you to pay attention to me!" He might even start to pout or cross his arms. But if you give him your full attention, he'll be so happy. He'll wrap his arms around you and hold you close. He might even refuse to let you go until you give him a kiss.

San is a very dramatic person, and he loves to ham it up for attention. So when you give him a sudden kiss, he'll definitely be dramatic about it. He'll clutch his heart and gasp for air, like he's just been shot. He might even keel over and pretend to faint. Then he'll look up at you with big, innocent eyes and say, "Oh my god, I think you need to give me one more kiss." You'll laugh at his dramatics, but you'll also be touched by his reaction. You know that he loves you very much, and he's just so happy to be with you.

San once bought you a plushie couple as a gift. He loves to bring it with him everywhere he goes, even when he can't be around you. The plushie reminds him of you and makes him feel closer to you even when you're apart. When San has to go far away from you, he'll call you nonstop. He just wants to hear your voice and know that you're okay. He can't imagine his life without you, and he's so grateful to have you in his life.

San is not the most experienced when it comes to taking care of people when they're sick. But when you're feeling under the weather, he'll do his best to make you feel better. He'll start by holding you close and cuddling you. He knows that physical touch can be very comforting when you're feeling sick. He'll also try to make you laugh, because he knows that laughter is the best medicine. If you're in pain, San will be worried as hell. He'll want to do whatever he can to make you feel better. He might ask you if you need anything, or he might just sit by your side and hold your hand. San might not be the most experienced caregiver, but he's always there for you when you need him. He loves you very much, and he wants to make sure that you're feeling better.

Boyfriend San is the one who you can lean on. He has a lot of skills, which means he can deal with so many things you're struggling with. San is a very capable and resourceful person. He's good at problem-solving, and he's always willing to help out. He's also very patient and understanding, which makes him a great listener. If you're struggling with something, San is the perfect person to talk to. He'll listen to you without judgment, and he'll offer you his support and advice. He'll also help you come up with solutions to your problems.

San is the best one who can lift up your mood. He always has a way to make you smile, even on the worst day of your life. His presence alone is already healing. San is a very positive and optimistic person. He always sees the good in people and in situations. This positive attitude is contagious, and it can help you to see the good in your own life, even when things are tough. San is also very creative and funny. He's always coming up with new ways to make you laugh. His sense of humor can help to take your mind off of your problems and make you feel better. And even when he's not saying anything, San's presence can be healing. Just being around him can make you feel safe and loved. His warm smile and gentle touch can help to soothe your soul. If you're ever feeling down, San is the perfect person to talk to. He'll listen to you without judgment, and he'll offer you his support and encouragement. He'll also help you to see the good in your life, even when things are tough.

🔖: @yustea

[fairuzfan]

hi! I'm a linguistics major who's been interested in learning both modern standard arabic and palestinian arabic for a while now, but I've never gotten a chance to. (as a side note, we used some minimal palestinian arabic data in phonology and morphology, so I happen to have some base familiarity with the consonant inventory). my courses wrap up tomorrow, so I'll have until september to learn some of the basics.

I know you've posted some palestinian arabic learning resources on here before, which I plan on accessing. I was just wondering if you'd happen to know of any palestinian linguists, or perhaps could direct me to some blogs or sites that could help me out? in particular, I'd be interested in learning the language through the lens of the international phonetic alphabet, as a frame of reference for pronunciations. while I'm aware that the ipa is, unfortunately, rather western-centric, I plan on utilizing it purely as a learning aide. if you're aware of anything that might help me out, or know anyone who I could reach out to for more info, please do let me know!!

also, sorry to make an already long-winded ask even longer, but are there any common conventions when typing/writing arabic using the latin alphabet that I should know of, in case I come across it? while I absolutely plan on learning the arabic alphabet first and foremost, should I ever *need* to use the latin alphabet, it would be nice to know of writing conventions that arabic speakers might use.

thanks for taking the time to read this ask! it's a long one, but I just wanted to put it out here. also, thank you so much for the work you do on this blog. it's been an invaluable resource for me to get educated on the ongoing genocide, the history of palestine, and the beauty of palestinian culture. your posts have really encouraged me to go out of my way to learn a language and engage with a culture I wasn't previously very familiar with, and for that, I'm so grateful. 💜

thanks again! have a great day!

I'm sorry I don't know much about linguistics but that sounds really cool. There's actually a method for us to write in Latin letters to represent certain sounds and letters through digital communication (for example we use 7 to distinguish to h sound we say from the back of the throat as opposed to the softer h sound — ح as 7 and ه as h respectively).

If you see random numbers sometimes in the middle of words, that usually means that we wanna make sure that the full meaning is conveyed without ambiguity.

If someone else has resources about linguistics, lmk!

Thank you so much for saying this also, I really appreciate it!

[bsd-bibliophile]

Survey Dates: 11/15/2023 - 12/15/2023

Number of Participants: 326

Tumblr will not allow me to post pictures of all the survey results, so only part of them are included in this post. You can download and view the complete results here or view them in the BSD-Bibliophile Online Library.

Thank you to everyone who participated! If you are interested in viewing the results from past surveys, here are the results from 2018, 2019, 2020, 2021, and 2022.

View the complete survey results here or on the BSD-Bibliophile Online Library.

Comments:

(⁠ ⁠╹⁠▽⁠╹⁠ ⁠)

(⁠.⁠ ⁠❛⁠ ⁠ᴗ⁠ ⁠❛⁠.⁠)

:)

:3

All my favs are the ones who aren't from Japan💀

As a huge bsd fan, I admire how commited you are to the blog. Have a good day, as well as a happy new year!!!!! I´ve been filling out your annual surveys since 2020, and I´m glad that you still carry them every year. Thanks!!

BSD Bibliophile is generally such a cool and useful resource, I’ve used it both for fun as well as for school work (I didn’t have my physical copy of Akutagawa’s works with me and needed to cite “Spinning Gears”/“Cogwheels”). Thank y’all for everything you do!

BSD-Bibliophile, the website and the Tumblr posts have been invaluable to me in my literary journey. I thank you so much for your service to the community, I can't express how happy I am that the lesser known or completely unknown authors are getting more western attention. Thank you so much!!

comments on my answers: I used to own more books but when I emigrated I could bring only one. The book I brought here from Russia is Dazai’s stories collection. Since many of the books are available in Japanese for free, I also read them on aozora app.

Finding Japanese literature from these authors is actually pretty difficult in Scotland. Also, Dazai and Nakahara are such fangirl answers, but I actually adore both of their works

First of all, sorry for my horrendous English 💀 I love this page so much! I was absolutely lost as to where to read the translations of the LN, wan! And others, it had been so helpful for me when it comes to my time enjoying BSD. Also, I enjoyed a lot that one section of like fun facts of the real authors and I was so happy when I found the bunch of English translation of the real authors, it really made my day.Now when I want to read a book of the real authors, or read something BSD related I know where ti search for first! I absolutely adored all the work you put into this (or the team (?) I don't know how mane people is running the page:(), thank you for all of it, keep going! 💗

for the images included on posts; the only thing i don't like about them is that they're a bit too tall (making the post look too long as well). i think images would still be nice if they were longer width than height! also, thank you for all of the work you do running bsd bibliophile! you've put together such an amazing and invaluable resource for bsd fans and non-fans alike.

Great work!

Have a nice day!!

Hello! - princy :3

Honestly, I would read stuff by the authors but I just don't have that kind of money

hope you are having a great day!

I absolutely love BSD it made me get into japness literature, as well did Bungo To Alchemist. ALSO BSD LIGHT NOVEL ON TOP!!

I appreciate the work you do! It has really expanded my taste in literature, and for that I am very grateful <3

I appreciate your work🥰😘❤

I believe that having more of a separation from the BSD characters and the real life authors in the bibliophile’s posts would be highly appreciated from a lot of other people; and not just myself

I bought Summer of the Ubume by Kyougoku Natsuhiko when it still was in print in English. I took it with me when rereading and lost my copy. I’m kicking myself years later for not buying a used copy for $50. Earlier this year I was able to borrow a copy from a library and took a picture of every page so I can keep it with me that way. I was delighted to find a scan PDF of the novel when your tumblr linked stories to read for Halloween. Thank you for sharing and thank you whomever made that scan. The BSD Gaiden novel is my favorite thing from BSD and I’m deeply thankful to the person who shared their amazing fan translation. It’s led me to buying all of the English translations of Ayatsuji’s works, plus the two volumes of the manga. I’m a newer follower of your tumblr, but have enjoyed reading each new quote and seeing ones I’ve recognized. Thank you for your work, it’ll definitely be inspiration when I want to read more Japanese literature.

I enjoy the BSD-Bibliophile page on tumblr! I like reading parts (?) of the authors' works and i've become more interested in their works. Thanks for all that you do!! :D

I have the page bookmarked in my browser so that I can check it out from time to time. Also I love Chuuya

I honestly love this website like literally. This bibliophile has helped me Soo much like finding the authors I want to read and learning more about the authors featured. Honestly, words can't describe how grateful I am that this site being created to help accessing literature more easier

I just want you to know that i adore all the effort that goes into this page and that its (In my opinion) a staple of the fandom

I look forward to the survey every year to see how far I’ve come in interacting with Japanese literature. Thanks for running the blog and library, it’s an amazing resource. Best, Comical tuber

I love BSD bibliophile so damn much, whatever BSD related author work and BSD manga (both wan and anthologies) weren't possible for me to find this easily. This website is the work of art. My favourite place

I love BSD-Bibliophile Online Library! Thank you for managing it!

I love the 'recently published' section!

I love your blog and what you do for the fandom! It really scratches the itch which is my obsession with BSD and classic/20th C literature <3

I love your site so much, it's made it so easy to get more info about Japanese authors and figure out what else I want to read. Thank you so much!i love your work!!

I personally believe that using advertisement through mangas and animes specially bsd connects me to the world of books one more time Also I’m grateful for free online websites for putting pdfs of books that I can’t easily have access in my country

I really appreciate all the information you have online here. I have learned a lot and I admire you and your passion. This might sound weird but I truly hope I can collect and read Japanese Literature and organise information as you do when I am older.

I really like your blog, keep it up :3

I really want to read Q's Dogra Magra but I think it's only been translated completely in french so far. Thank you so much for your database! It makes it so much easier to access learning.

I think it's so cool that you're doing these surveys! I think this bibliophile project is just awesome in general tho :) (also dang its hard to choose a fave char) lots of <3 <3 <3

I want to read many more books of the real authors so i cannot yet judge who my favorite will be. Dazai's works are the easiest to get access to in my country and I got Chuuya's poems as a gift so I am still hunting for more :)

I want to read some of their books but i'm to scared of telling my mom this fact ┻━┻︵ヽ(`Д´)ﾉ︵ ┻━┻

I wasn't sure if that question about reading Japanese lit was about reading it in Japanese or not

I will try to get more into this Library ! It's really good and good job for the the tumblr blog, i love it !

I would like if the quotes didn't repeat a lot– Like finding more than 4 posts of the same quote is weird to me at least... instead of doing the same authors in repetition, do more characters that have been published a few times in the blog 🙌🏻

I’m a BSD anime fan who would like to try some of the works by the authors the characters are based on but hasn’t gotten around to figuring out a good entry point for people who don’t usually read literature

I'm new to the fandom, but I'm looking forward to check out any translation that are available (I plan to read at least the work the ability is referring to for a start)

I'm so thankful for your website making Japanese literature available, as I live in a somewhat rural area. Keep up the good work!

I'm very grateful for the resources that had been accumulated by bsd bibliophile, really, I've only been able to nurture my interest in Japanese literature and grow to be passionate about it because I had such easy access to the translated works so thanks a lot for the work you do!

I've just decided to make use of the online library and I'm very excited! I'll check of Oda and Nikolai first because they are most interesting to me :)

i've remembered about the bibliophile purely by chance. in a span of a single night, i've read another media that draws heavy inspiration from japanese literature – ""hashihime of the old book town"". i say ""finished"", yet i'm only done with a single route of this novel. i plan on seeing it through the end. i am enamoured by this script. it's as If i've found true literature again. i truly do not know why im saying this. forgive me If my words are unclear in my ramblings. i am simply here to pick up some kyusaku. maybe then i will be able to fully unravel the fabric of this novel, thread by thread.

I've used this blog to help open myself up to more Japanese literature for years now, ever since I first got into bad, and I can't thank you enough for running this!

Just followed a little while ago so my answers probably aren't that helpful, sorry! I'm looking forward to going through your blog though! Hope you have a nice day/night! :)

Just started following the blog recently tbh, but I’m excited to check out the online library!

Keep up the good work!! :)

Keep up with the good work! I'm always happy to see your content

Love your blog and everything you do!!!

My 1st fav character is Atsushi, but Chuuya's also on top :))

My book count is prolly squewed as I had to go off of memory (since I left many behind in the US at my parents house). I counted Japanese fiction from non BSD authors but not manga and light novels. Also I used to watch & read BSD but no longer do so, but still enjoy Japanese literature.

sorry i took this for fun and wanna read a lot of multiple authors works but uh i havent come around to it yet (also money 😭)

Thank you :)

Thank you <3

Thank you for all the posts you have posted! I can find it hard at times to have the motivation to sit down and READ lol but you inspire me to read more with all the quotes you have shared with us on your blog. <3 Take care!

Thank you for all you do

Thank you for all you do <3

thank you for creating and running this beautiful blog anne♡✨.

Thank you for creating this amazing website ! :D through this website i can learn more about the authors and im happy because of it thank you once again !! <3

thank you for everything you do!

Thank you for letting me know of the library! I've been wanting to read the authors' works but couldn't find them along with money issues

Thank you for providing information that I could not find in anywhere else on the internet in English!

Thank you for the hardwork!! <3

thank you for you blog! literally my go to anytime i need any bsd related! it is literally invaluable and im so so grateful to you!

thank you for your hard work <3 i'm currently studying japanese, because i really want to read japanese literature in its original language and translate it, but until then i will continue relying on english translations - most of which i was only able to find on your site. again, i thank you and the translators from the bottom of my heart for providing us with such amazing resources and translations for free <3

Thank you for your hard work and efforts to share and compile the legally available works of the BSD authors! Your site has allowed me to appreciate BSD as well as Japanese literature itself a lot more.

Thank you for your hard work o7

Thank you for your hard work! Have a nice day:)

Thank you for your hard work! Was it not BSD-Bibliophile I'd be completely lost with researching irl authors and their art of writing. You helped me lots of times.

thank you for your hardwork! i appreciate what you do <3

Thank you for your work and your posts! :D

Thank you for your work at BSD-Bibliophile. For the research that I am conducting and for leisure purposes, the curated library is immensely helpful. I am happy to see that interest has grown in Japanese literature alongside the depth of available resources.

Thank you for your work! It’s always a bright spot in my day to see these quotes :)

Thank you for your work! Your blog has been a great source of information for me for a few years now. Sending love and hugs 🌸

Thank you for your work!!

Thank you so much for all you've done for the community!!!

Thank you!

Thanks :D

Thanks for all the work you do

Thanks for all your work! It's because of you guys that I've been able to read as much as I have (and will continue to do)!!!

Thanks for this resource, it's helpful as a Universal Literature student

the online library has really helped in finding japanese literature

The online library helped me so much in getting to know more about japanese literature thanks a lot for you ♥️

The website has been of great help to find my way around the literature! Truly a godsend! Keep up the great work

The world of literature is a big one & some of it aren't really that accessible. It's great that there are more people translating these previously untranslated works so we can see just how unique each author's style is

There were questions asking for "favorite Japanese BSD author", but those questions were very misleading. First of all, the characters in BSD aren't authors; they don't do or haven't done writing for living or anything along the lines. Secondly, said questions made it sound more like you were asking for whether I like Asagiri, Harukawa, Kanai, Hoshikawa or some other creators who are credited as authors of BSD. They are BSD authors, not the characters like you made it sound like in your questions. If you are asking about real-life authors who happen to have characters based on them in BSD, leave out BSD from the questions, or specify them with something like "Which Japanese author do you like the most, who has a character based on them in BSD?". Last I would like to suggest adding option to the question regarding BSD media, where people who are ex-BSD fans could specify that they've been previously fans, but don't consume or follow the series anymore. The option could be literally just "Previously have been BSD fan, but don't consume any of the official content anymore". I'm pretty sure there are plenty of people like me who have enjoyed BSD in the past, but now just enjoy Japanese literature alone or through some other medias that have nothing to do with BSD. Thanks for the annual survey as always. It's been interesting to see how much the fandom reads and who are the authors who people read in the first place. I wish more people would pay attention to some less popular authors, as there are plenty of hidden gems and your favorite author doesn't have to be the same as your favorite BSD character.

there's a redditor in r/templeofes who's working on translating dogra magra and they're working very hard :D

This blog is a national treasure, thank you all <3

This initiative is so beautiful, thank you for all the hard work.

This website is amazing!!!!!! It’s hard to find Japanese classics in America but this list has them all ❤️

Tumblr doesn't show me many of your posts, so I will try to interact more to see them ^.^

Very cool survey! Thanks

Well have have read many of Fyodor dostoevsky books but not any Japanese novels or poems

When I first got into bsd your online library was an invaluable resource and the only reason I have read works by bsd Japanese authors. I use it less now because my hyperfixation has waned but I still really appreciate all that you do and the resources made available to fans. Thank you!

will check the BDS-Bibliophile website <3 hope u have a nice day

yooo!! thanks for this super awesome survey!! happy easter <33 -a migrating tumblrer

You’re one of the best resources I have for BSD and JP literature. I’m eternally grateful for all the work you do

[bunnidarling]

Beautiful sketch of my boy getting his drunken flirt on with daddy by the incredible @evaporatingvoid

Except from Chapter 14: "The Hero":

Despite exhaustion, Averyll flitted around camp like a little hummingbird. He never stayed too long with anyone in particular, but made sure to share as much cheer as he could at each stop. All of the tieflings were getting deep into their revels, cups flowing and music filling the air. He even played a few duets with Alfira, the sad tiefling he helped finish her song back at The Grove. Playing his viola and raising up his voice in song with someone else felt wonderful.

It had been a solid age since he had last done it. Of course his viola was the conduit for his magic, so he used it constantly in battles, but had hardly touched it at all for pleasure. He didn’t realize how much he had missed it. Everyone except Wyll seemed to be enjoying the party; he chose to keep to himself and stare out over the water. Averyll checked on him just to let him know he was missed, but Wyll waved him off and Averyll left him to his contemplation. Everyone had some kind of comment about how ‘cozy’ Averyll and Astarion had become. Was it that obvious?

After a couple more rousing songs, Averyll allowed another tiefling to fill his cup and he approached Halsin, who had stationed himself at the back of camp and appeared to be enjoying himself as an observer. As soon as Averyll approached the large druid waved him off, deep voice booming. 

“Go on! Don’t waste a night like this talking to me. We’ll talk about your problem tomorrow.” 

Averyll’s face and the tips of his ears were already flushed with drink. He raised his glass, “I was hoping you might share a drink with me! To celebrate!” 

Halsin chuckled, “In truth I rarely imbibe. The stuff goes straight to my head. Before you know it I’ll be breaking into song or declaring love to the first person I laid eyes on.” He gestured to him and Averyll felt his mouth go dry. 

Gods he’s so big. And that voice. So deep. Fuck. His eyes went a bit dreamy as he listened. He had to be at least a full head taller than Averyll. If I stepped closer my face would nestle right in the center of his ample, muscular chest. 

Averyll gave his most charming grin, “I fail to see the problem with either of those things.” 

Halsin just laughed, “Then you’ve never heard my singing. Which makes you very fortunate.” 

“Perhaps there’s something else you’d rather do?...” Averyll’s eyes smoldered up at the elder druid, his desire naked on his face. 

Halsin’s voice dropped just a bit, and something flashed in his own eyes that gave Averyll the impression that he was receptive to his less than subtle flirting. “I’m sure there are. You strike me as someone rather…” His eyes narrowed slightly and for a split moment Averyll felt he was but a deer before the mighty bear. “... Resourceful .” Averyll felt his trousers tighten around his growing bulge. 

“But,” Halsin continued, popping Averyll’s little bubble of hope, “There are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. I must not keep you all to myself. As enjoyable as that may be.”

Oh. Oh. Yes it would be enjoyable. I’d make certain of that.

“Go on!” Halsin continued, gesturing with his large hands, “Enjoy yourself. Seek some wine before it runs dry. There are lots of thirsty people around her.” 

Averyll swallowed. He was certainly one of those thirsty people. Gods.

[arammies]

pac: healing together with your loved ones

aka traits of yours that conciously/subconciously heal your loved ones because some healing is done together :)

i always think about how my uni bestfriend helps me heal my generational and love traumas simply by being themselves sooo this was made ehe

ू focus on the question. then pick a pile that stands out the most to you. you may pick more than one pile. if nothing catches your attention, then there is simply no message for you here at the current moment.

ू many many thanks to my guides and your guides for helping with these messages :)

ू deck used; the final rose tarot

from left to right, top to bottom; pile 1, pile 2, pile 3, pile 4

· · ─────── ˗ ˏˋ ❀ ´ˎ ˗ ─────── · ·

pile 1

[ 6 of cups, 8 of cups, 8 of wands ]

you inspire your loved ones to make hard decisions. to give up. giving up is cool! giving up is okay! when you decide something no longer serves you, no matter how much time and or energy you put into it, you walk away. they find it courageous that you do so, because you are in the present and the unknown of the future does not scare you off more than your worth in the present. if this doesn't work out, you'll get to the next thing and if that doesn't work out too, what a pity but let's try something else. you don't mull too much into it and this amazes them.

· · ─────── ˗ ˏˋ ❀ ´ˎ ˗ ─────── · ·

pile 2

[ 6 of wands, knight of swords, 10 of pentacles, 8 of cups ]

you remind your loved ones to celebrate each step, that you don't have to reach the final destination for you to celebrate. that every achievement counts. and that it's okay to bask it in, brag about it even. you know how much of your heart and soul you've put into it, what's not to brag about? your loved ones are also encouraged to move forward the way you do: simple, straightforward and slow. slow as in to have stable foundation first. at the same time, you're aware that there's many ways to reach a goal. i'm hearing for example, if you want to walk to a house. at the end of the day, no matter which route you take, the house isn't moving anywhere so might as well, enjoy the walk there. that kind of vibe. i feel like this is mostly subconciously but your loved ones are grateful to live life alongside someone like you.

p/s: while shuffling your cards, they kept scrambling everywhere and where id normally get pissed, i just calmly collected them back in and move on. i feel like youre like that. like if something terrible happens, you stare for a while and soak it in and then like "eh. that happened, oh well."

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pile 3

[ 4 of pentacles, 9 of cups, knight of wands ]

you heal your loved ones with the way you approach your ego. you know when to take control and when to surrender, when to play hard and when to let loose. ego is a fickle thing in general but because you master it, you are always one step ahead in things you're pursuing. you're not shy about it either, you know what you like and or don't like and are eager to get there.

p/s: this one is short and straightforward, i didn't feel the need to add more, i feel you're like that lol.

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pile 4

[ justice, 8 of pentacles, the magician ]

LMAOOOOO you really have it all going for you, pile four. you are quite literally a one-person-show by yourself. you can do anything and everything. you are a living proof to your loved ones that dedication and consistency pays off because you honed your skills to get to where you are. you know how to be resourceful. you are also authentic, which is too why your loved ones (and others i'm hearing) look up to you because while you're very respected, you take accountability and give credits where it's due.

p/s: the numbers 111, 118 might be significant.

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